The Blood in My Veins
by My Beautiful Ending
Summary: Val's already unstable life is thrown into chaos when she is kidnapped by Stryker's team and taken to 3 Mile Island. And to make matters that much worse, one of her captors is a man she knows about but has never met –her father. How will this end up? R/R!
1. Captured

**Disclaimer: i an not making any money off of this story. It's just for fun.**

**AN: So, the results of my poll said people wanted to have a Dark Knight Story. I've got one started, but I want to get a lot more chapters down before I post. An X-men Origins story was second, so I'm posting this. I've been writing this since...wow, since Christmas, so I'm pretty far along. Pick two or three days a week you want me to update, and I'll try to stick to that schedule. I hope you enjoy this story; I'm really excited for it! ~~MBE  
**

**Captured**

_Got to fight another fight, I gotta run another night  
Get it out, check it out , I'm on my way and I don't feel right  
I gotta get me back, I can't be beat and that's a fact  
It's okay, I'll find a way, You ain't gonna take me down no way  
~~You can't take me Bryan Adams_

The hum of an engine woke me up.

I opened my eyes, but I couldn't see anything.

Wider. Still nothing.

Was I blind? I reached out with my hands and touched fabric before I realized I couldn't pull my aching wrists apart, nor could I open my mouth. I pushed my tongue past my lips and tasted adhesive –duct tape. Probably the same thing was on my wrists. So… I was bound with duct tape. And I was in a bag, possibly? And… and my neck _hurt._

…_I had gotten off the hated, loathed school bus and walked the gravel road up to the farmhouse. I had called up to my foster mom Carrie that I would be in the barn with the horses after depositing my stuff in my room. I grabbed two apples from the bowl on the kitchen table, one for me and one for Dixie, the brown Morgan, and then I pushed open the screen door. As I was walking down the path lined by bushes, I took a big bite of my apple. _

_Suddenly, a big black blur shot out of the shrubbery and rammed into me, shoving me over onto the gravel. I had inhaled the piece of apple when I gasped, and now I was choking. The person turned me over and gave me the Heimlich maneuver, pressing hard right below my diaphragm. The apple slice popped out of my throat and I spit it out, gasping for air. I inhaled a scent that was feline, dangerous, and deadly, all in one, right before my neck stung and the gravel faded to black. _

_My last thought was that the scent somehow smelled familiar…_

I took a deep breath, trying to pinpoint just who was with me, wherever the heck I was. There were four separate smells, plus the same dangerous, catlike smell, the same one from the farm. Men, from the sound of their low voices. I pushed all questions of _why _and _wherefore_ to the back of my head. I could probably find the reason I was taken within three guesses –mutant. The important thing was getting _away from them._ I didn't know which end of the bag led out, but I'd probably guess my head, since there was no way to lever it open at that end.

Villains were only stupid in movies.

Up and down were not options. Left and right, however… using my knees and elbows I managed to start rolling along the floor, making surprisingly good time until a booted foot connected with my kneecaps. As I moaned into the tape and curled into a ball to hug my aching knees, I thought, _it could be worse. Be glad that foot didn't kick your stomach. That would have been bad; what if you had thrown up? News Flash: teenage girl smothered by her own vomit -News at nine._

The bag was undone and hands roughly yanked me out. Wincing from the light, I couldn't see any of them clearly. When the duct tape was yanked off, I hissed from the pain and as a warning; it was cat for _stay away from me!_

The only response was a dark laugh that sounded like a growl, coming from behind me, and as I was forcibly turned around to face the people, the man who laughed entered my vision. He was the one who smelled familiar and deadly and catlike.

I figured out why he seemed so familiar.

I recognized him.


	2. Valiant

**Valiant**

_Don't judge a thing until you know what's inside it  
Don't push me - I'll fight it  
Never gonna give in - never gonna give it up, no  
~~Bryan Adams, You can't take me_

**Flashback**

"Mama, why am I different?" my nine-year old self asked.

"Oh, honey." My mother gathered me into her lap as her blond hair cascaded over me, a few shades lighter than my own. She smiled lovingly, but her blue eyes ached for me. "You aren't different. You're special, so special. And I love you very much."

"I know. But why?"

She hesitated, trying to figure out how to explain something like this to someone as young as me. "You inherited unique gifts from your parents, honey."

"I know; you're like Pegasus. A horse with wings."

"Yes, dear. I shape shift. That's where you get your wings from."

I shoved my dirty-blond bangs out of my face. "And I run fast."

She laughed and straightened my hair. "Yes you do."

I reached up to stop her from doing things to my hair, and my fingers brushed my ears. Velvety with light brown fur, they were very large. Sometimes I felt like Dumbo, except instead of elephant ears, I had cat ears. "What about my ears, mama?"

"You get those from your father," she said, her smile disappearing.

I didn't ask any more until I was about twelve. By that time I had already had the 'talk' that all mothers give when their kids hit puberty.

"Mom, who was my father?"

She stopped wiping dishes and leaned on the counter. "He told me his name was Victor Creed."

"He _told_ you?"

"Yes. I only knew him for three days, honey. It was a fling; I don't think I loved him. And if you ever remember anything I say, be sure that you love someone, and that they love you back enough to get married. It was really hard for me as a single mom, and I don't want that for you." She gave me a grave, serious look.

"Okay, mom." I remembered that last hard stretch before her photo business finally took off. "Does he know? About me."

She shook her head. "No, honey. I'm sorry." She brightened. "But I've got a picture of him."

I grinned. "That isn't at all surprising."

"Oh, you. Don't get smart," she said with a smile, walking into her bedroom. I stayed where I was, curled up on the couch. She reappeared a few minutes later, tucking her hair behind her ears. "It took me a bit to find it." She held the photograph out to me, and I took it.

It was a slightly fuzzy photograph of a brown-haired man; leaning on the big side, but because of muscle, not fat. With dark eyes, long sideburns, and a raised eyebrow, he looked as if he couldn't figure why my mother wanted to take a picture of him. He wasn't smiling. No cat ears either.  
"How do I get my ears from _him_?" I asked skeptically.

"He's got claws," my mother said placidly, making her self a cup of coffee.

"Claws," I said incredulously.

"And fangs," she added.

"Okaaaaaay… what does he _go_ by?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said innocently, sipping from her cup.

"You know… you're Pegasus. You said I'm something between a sphinx and a griffin. What's he?"

"They call him Sabertooth."

A prehistoric hunter-cat. "Who's 'they'?" I asked.

"His army buddies. He was a soldier."

"Oh…cool." Not really, but it deserved some sort of response.

"You take after him, you know?" she said, looking at me over her cup. "You're strong, and you never give up. You didn't get that from me; I fall to pieces when I break a plate. I guess I named you well."

I smiled. "I like my name, Mom." I gave her a hug. "Love you."

She hugged me back. "I love you too, Valiant."

**Present**

I growled low in my throat, telling them all to _back off or else there will be blood._ It looked like I was in some kind of vehicle, green in color, with seats along the sides.

"Does she talk, or just make animal noises all the time?" some Asian guy asked. He had at least three pistols that I could see strapped to him.

"We filled her with enough knockout drugs to take down an elephant, so maybe," another said.

"Haha, I bet she's some kinda feral like Creed here." That came from a redheaded _soldier_ who held my left arm. He shouldn't have gotten that crew cut; I had easy access to his ear. He screamed bloody murder when I bit him, and began to pummel me when I didn't stop. He landed a fist on my right eye, and I decided to let him go, since I didn't want to rip his ear off. That would have been nasty. As I spit his blood out of my mouth onto the floor, he began to cuss me out as all his other mates laughed themselves silly.

"It's not *$*%# funny! That $#*%& almost bit through my ear! You ^%&$*#!"

I snarled; he was _not _getting away with calling me those names.

"You're lucky she only got your ear, Olsen." The deep voice matched up with its scent –dark and deadly. "She could have ripped your head off."

I wouldn't have gone that far. I'm not a killer, not like them. Never like them. The smell of blood is thick on them, and not just Olsen's. It sits like a cloud, marking them as blood-spillers, carnage wreckers. Beasts.

"I would have expected _better_ from _soldiers,_" I spat, still struggling in the other two's grip. "_Morals,_ maybe? But I guess not." The Asian dude and Creed just smiled a little bit. But the other three got huffy.

"Shut up mutant!" said the one holding my right arm, and slapped me. I recoiled, and then lunged for his face. He yelled, but I hadn't even connected.

The swelling on my eye was starting to go down from where Olsen had punched me. "I hate you," I whispered. It was a general statement, aimed at no one in particular. But if I had to pick someone, I would probably pick the man who was my father.


	3. Escape

**Escape**

_If you can't catch a wave then you're never gonna ride it  
You can't come uninvited  
Never gonna give in - never gonna give up no  
You can't take me, I'm free  
~~Bryan Adams, You Can't Take Me_

An intercom crackled to life and a voice said, "We'll be there in a minute or two."

Asian dude pressed a button on the wall and replied. "Roger."

I sat sullenly on the floor, staring at my jeans and still-taped hands. _What should I do? Form an escape plan? That's gonna be real hard with _him _around. _How could I think of this man –Creed –as my father? Fathers were people who you grew up with, who tucked you into bed at night, who held you when you were scared and high-fived you when you got straight 'A's on your report cards. He was only a face in a photograph that had suddenly come to life.

Brakes squealed and after turning a corner, the truck slowed to a stop. Olsen unlocked the door, still holding his bleeding ear. Before I disembarked, I held out my wrists to Creed wordlessly. He stared into my eyes, and I wanted to gulp. _Does he know?_ Doubtful, but the thought remained. His eyes were brown right now, but he still had the stare of a predator. I shook my arms impatiently and rumbled in back of my throat. He smirked and slit the tape with one claw.

He thought I was going to try to attack the military types, so he cut me loose; he obviously didn't like them. He was also sure that if I tried to escape, he'd be able to get me back easy. I hoped I could be inventive enough to get past him.

The sun was setting in the west as I stepped out onto the asphalt of a chopper pad. It was one of those big military types, with sliding doors and badly painted camo. I balled up the duct tape and tossed it away from me before being shoved hard by Olsen. Catching myself before I fell, I turned sharply to face him. "Ya know, I can take that chip off your shoulder if you want me to…" I muttered darkly.

"Just get in the helicopter, kid," the Asian guy said.

We all piled in, the doors shut, and the big blades began to turn. Once we were up in the air, I glanced at Creed and mumbled, "How long?" referring to the time of my capture. I didn't want the others to hear me, and I figured he could get along just fine if he had hearing anything like mine.

"Six hours," he said, in an equally low tone. I exhaled slowly; Carrie would be worrying about me. She and my mom had been great friends, and I couldn't have picked anyone better to live with. For a foster mom, she was great. _Sorry Carrie. This wasn't my idea._

Something about the doors kept niggling at the edge of my brain. Finally, I realized it. _They weren't locked._ Slowly, a plan began to form. _If I started a fight with the soldiers, Creed wouldn't do anything; if I managed to pull open the door and jump, I'm fairly certain I could shift my wings open before I hit the ground. Fairly certain. _

It didn't really seem like much of a plan, but it was all I had. I didn't want to just passively let them abduct me.

_On three, 'kay?_ I told myself._ One…two…three. _I jumped at Olsen and decked him before anyone realized. His buddy came to his rescue, but I dodged around him, kicking him in the gut. I grabbed the door handle, and Creed was up and growling with warning. Not heeding him, I yanked open the chopper door and jumped.

The wind struck me in my face and forced my scream back into my throat. I concentrated on the prickly feeling between my shoulder blades, not on the ground growing rapidly nearer. A much larger body collided into my back and wrapped big, sinewy arms around my middle. I started to fight; I had no doubt about whom it was, and if he stayed on my back, my wings wouldn't come out! He roared into my ear _be still! _and grabbed me harder, turning us over so he was underneath me. Panic set in that maybe I was actually going to die right before we hit the ground.

I dry-retched at the sickening _crunch _from underneath me. _Holy cow –is he dead?_ Rolling off him, I stared anxiously at the man. Who could have survived that fall?

He opened his eyes and stared into my own. "Don't look at me that way kid. I'm fine." He sat up and stretched, and I could have sworn I heard bones click back into place. Looking at the place where we had landed, I could definitely see an indent in the ground, along with blood.

"I heal fast, kid."

"Why'd you do that?" I said, still staring at the ground.

"My job, runt. I don't get paid if you don't arrive in one piece. That was #*$% stupid, by the way. You won't get away from me, so don't try."

I made an irritable cat noise in the back of my throat as the helicopter swung around to land and pick us up again.

He laughed. "Yowl all you want, kitten, but Sabertooth's wise to ya now. You won't be gettin' away again."

Nope, probably not.

Flashback

At seven years old, my mother and I were taking a walk in our town's large rose garden. "Don't go very far, Val," she told me.

"Yes, Mama," I replied, and skipped off to smell the roses. I pulled a particularly pretty pink rose down to my height to smell, and winced. Looking at my thumb, a bead of blood had welled up. _This rose has sharp thorns,_ I thought as I stuck my thumb in my mouth to suck. After a minute, the thumb didn't hurt anymore, so I pulled it out and examined it. The skin between my eyebrows wrinkled in puzzlement. There wasn't any mark on my thumb where the thorn had pricked it. Being a curious child, I grabbed another stem and this time, my index finger got wounded. I wiped off the blood and stuck it in my mouth, pulling it out a few seconds later. No mark. I did it a third time, this time on my palm. This time I wiped the blood off and stared at my hand. I could clearly see the wound, but slowly, my skin seemed to stretch itself across the opening, finally leaving no trace of where it had been.

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please continue to do so!**


	4. Labs and Such

**4: Labs and such**

_You give me answers when I didn't ask  
You keep bringing up my past  
Always play the same old song ~~ Britt Nicole, Ready_

Their base of operations was big, gray, ugly, and imposing. But I didn't open my mouth and say that. All the curses I was holding in would have spilled out. My mother had raised me better than that, and I wasn't going to bring myself down to their level.

"Where do we bring her?" Olsen's pal asked the Asian man.

"Lab."

That one word evoked unpleasant pictures of scalpels, shots, and horror movie devices. I snarled, trying hard to wrench my arms from the iron grip that encircled them. Evidently I did not get the strength gene from my father. His claws came dangerously close to piercing my skin as we walked –well, he walked; I was propelled –down a hallway to a spotless laboratory full of stainless steel equipment, two doctors, and an older man in a military uniform.

He had a disdainful air, and his graying hair wasn't a sign of weakness. My cat ears lay back, plastering themselves against my skull; I hissed. I knew a rattlesnake when I saw one.

He spoke. "Good job men." He nodded at the soldiers. "You can go. Zero and Victor, stay please." They left, but not before Olsen gave me a black look at whispered, "You're dead, mutie!" as he passed.

Once the door closed, the man turned to us. "Zero –report." Was that the Asian man's name?

"The girl didn't give us much trouble, Major Stryker."

He raised an eyebrow. "Much?"

"She jumped out of the helicopter, but Creed caught her before she hit the ground."

"Good. Doctor, where do you want to start?"

A woman with blond hair and glasses, wearing a lab coat replied, "Set her on the table, if you please." I hoped I was shooting murderous glances at everyone I could see. The 'table' was metal, and had strong leather straps for holding people down. I was clearly its next victim. A growl built in my throat, and I let it out, low and angry, warning _don't you **dare** do what I think you're going to._ The feral cuffed me of the back of my head and snarled _behave or I'll make you._

"Get on," Creed told me. We were right in front of the torture device.

"No."

"Get on, or I'll make you."

"You do that," I retorted, sneering. With no hesitation, he picked me up as if I weight only a fourth of what I did and tossed me down on the metal surface, as the doctors hurried to strap me down. I thrashed and snarled, snapping at their hands whenever they came close. Finally finishing threading the straps through the buckles, they stepped back and the rattlesnake Major walked up to me.

"Let's start with something easy, shall we? What's your name?"

Staring balefully at him, I said nothing.

"We already know that your nickname is Val, but unfortunately a file was never opened at social services on you. So what's your full name?"

If he thought I would tell him anything freely, he was dead wrong.

"When were you born? We know you're around fourteen or fifteen."

No answer.

He frowned. "Fine. Let's talk about your powers."

Not hardly.

"What else can you do, besides growl and sport such unique ears?"

_Like I'd tell you._

He exhaled angrily. "Doctor? Do you have any of the truth serum on hand?"

I snorted and spoke. "That stuff doesn't compel anyone to tell the truth. It just makes them talk too much."

"Ah, so you can speak." He looked thoughtful. "Doctor, take some DNA samples and run some tests." The woman slipped on surgical gloves and grabbed hold of my ear, scraping the skin inside for cells. _Stop that!_ I hissed at her; it didn't hurt, but I didn't want her messing with me either. She also inserted a needle in my arm and drew some of my blood. I looked away and didn't fight that. I did not like needles.

The Major resumed my questioning. "Most feral mutants have some sort of regenerating ability to some degree. What about you?"

"No," I lied.

"She's a liar," the deep voice said to my right. I snarled at Creed, and he smiled at me with his fangs. "Face it, kid –I can smell the lie on you."

"Thank you, Victor," Stryker said. "Care to rethink your answer?"

I stayed silent, badly wanting to curse him out, and knowing it wouldn't do any good.

"Fine." Reaching over to pick up a scalpel off an instrument tray, he drove it into my upper thigh.

I screamed and thrashed, howling out my pain in cat. My leg felt as if fire was streaming up and down the length of it. When my breath ran out, I growled, loudly and deadly. But I could see that my body was doing its work, pushing out the foreign matter and rebuilding the muscle and tissue. Blood still stained my jeans, and the slice the scalpel made was still there, but the blade clattered to the table, gone from my leg. My chest heaved; it still hurt, and I was tired.

"Well, well," Stryker said in a satisfied tone.

"Is that what you wanted?" I spat. "To know what I can _do?_"

"Yes, in part. Where do you get this ability from?"

I didn't relish the thought of being stabbed with another knife. "Parents," I said finally.

"Oh? Which one?"

"Both."

"Your mother is dead, isn't she?"

"_No,_ we only _pretended _to bury her," I snarled sarcastically, lashing out with all the pain in my heart.

"Who's your father?"

I stayed silent.

"Don't make this difficult."

"Why?" I said, too angry to care.

"Because this happens." He struck the side of my face, and I recoiled, hissing. "Answer."

"Ask _him,_" I said angrily, turning my glare on Creed.

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers! Please continue to do so!**


	5. Heritage

**5: Heritage**

_Tired of buying all your lies  
Acting like I am all right  
So I hope you liked it last time  
'cause that will be the final time  
I wear my painted smile and sing along  
Yesterday's where you belong ~~Britt Nicole 'Ready'_

"What do you mean?" Major Stryker demanded.

"You heard me."

"Major." The blond doctor interrupted our conversation, staring at a computer screen. "I've just run her blood work and DNA through our system. There's a match." She glanced toward the large feral mutant. "With Victor Creed."

Stryker flashed an incredulous glance back and forth between Creed and me. "You're sure, doctor?"  
"Quite sure, Major Stryker."

Victor walked up to the table. I turned my head away, but he grabbed my hair and turned me back to face him. "You, kid –what was your mother's name?"

I looked up into his face, into cruel eyes that delighted in evil. Hang it all, I didn't _want_ him to be my father! "Rue Saffron Drake," I said softly, my gaze sliding away from his.  
"You'd better not be lying to me, you little frail…"

"You _said_ you could smell the lie on me, and _I am not a frail._"  
He let go of my hair, and said, " 's truth."

"You are her father, Victor?" The colonel asked, looking for confirmation.

"Kid, how old are ya?" Victor asked me.

"Fifteen."

"Yep. It matches."

"What's your name?" Stryker demanded.

I rolled my eyes at him.

My hair was yanked painfully, and I stared into the dark eyes of my father. "Name, kid. Now."

I bared my teeth in a silent growl. "Valiant Fortitude Drake."

He smiled, and I badly wanted to gorge his eyes out. "That sounds like her, naming you that."

_You don't know my mother. You don't know me. You don't know anything. _

Stryker took control of the situation again. "Agent Zero, take Miss Drake to her new cell. Victor, come with me."  
As the leather straps were unbuckled, I badly wanted to run, but the sight of Zero with his hand on his gun butt stopped me. "Come on. And no trouble, or else."

My life just got worse in too many ways to count.

* * *

Victor followed Stryker down the hall to his office, thinking about this girl with cat ears and his blood in her veins. _How 'bout that. Should've realized it earlier; her scent was indicator enough, smelling like me. If I had thought about it more, I would have realized she was part of Rue too._ He thought about the mutant woman who had caught his fancy while on leave from the army. She had been twenty-two, getting her bachelor's degree at the small town college and working in a bar to get her through school. The first thing he noticed about her was her scent: fresh and free, like a mountain morning, plus a dash of irritation about her confinement inside, when she could be outside, enjoying freedom. Wasn't too much of a surprise he had started calling her Flower.

Stryker entered his office and sat down behind his desk, looking up at Victor.

"What?" Victor asked, leaning against the wall. He pulled out a knife and started sharpening his claws.

"Are you going to tell me how this all started?"

Creed stared at him. "No." Silence descended, except for the sound of the knife on bone.

"What powers did her mother have?"

"Shifter. Not a true feral, though."

Stryker thought about this. "Why?"

"Herbivores," Victor explained, still intent on sharpening his claws. "Horses and birds."

"Ah," Stryker said, leaning back. "Well, she's definitely got your powers, if her ears are anything to go by. Do you think she's got her mother's powers, as well?"

He raised an eyebrow. "How the ^*#& should I know?"

"I see your point. You may go, Victor."

Creed stalked out of Stryker's office with feline grace so often associated with killing. _I've got a cub. D*# good one, too. _He remembered the scene in the lab; she showed only anger, letting her fear seep out only in her scent. She was strong, like him. Like her mother, too.

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers/alerters/favoriters! You all rock! even you silent readers, you do too! Please continue to do so! :D  
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	6. Caged

**6: Caged**

_Don't bury me I'm not yet dead  
Not a walking zombie with no head  
Not a Stepford wife made to obey  
Don't want to go through life that way  
~~'Alive', Superchick_

I was thrown into a bare cage in a lineup of many such cages, some containing occupants, some not.

"There's no bed in here," I told Agent Zero.

"Sleep on the floor."

"I'm hungry," I tried again.

"Tough." He slammed the door and left.

With some figuring, I discovered that (1) I could walk three paces one way and five the other, and (2) I didn't like being in a cage. The bars didn't yield to my pounding, and neither did the lock.

"It doesn't work."

I turned to my left to see a blond girl, older than me, sitting on the floor of the next cage. "It doesn't work. I've tried too many times."

"I'm trying for myself, so allow me my moment of stupidity." I slammed myself against the wall again.

"You're right, that was stupid."

I sighed. "And just who are you?"

"Emma Frost."

I nodded. "Val Drake."

"How do you do?" she asked, with an ironic twist to her mouth.

I sighed and placed my hands on my hips, glancing around at the bars. "At this moment, awful."

* * *

"Hey, Creed, is it true? You got a kid?" John Wraith asked from his spot on the couch as Victor walked into the lounge.

"Zero told you."

"Yeah. So is it true?"

"Yeah. You want to make somethin' of it, John?" Creed growled dangerously.

Wraith raised his hands in a placating way. "Nah, Victor. I just wondered, is all. You just better hope Zero didn't tell Wade, though."

Victor growled low in his throat. He hated Wade Wilson. "You better not tell him, John, or…"

"I wouldn't do that, Victor. Right, Fred?" John asked the large mutant sitting in an oversized easy chair.

"Nah, Victor."

"Good."

Victor went back to his room, a space that only held a bed, a nightstand, and dresser. Shrugging out of his trademark black coat, he sat on his bed and tugged his boots off. He lay down and tried to fall asleep, but his head was too full of memories. Rue Drake had been one of the very few women who were not scared and fearful at the sight of him. In fact, she had been intrigued, and interested to find one of her own kind. She had tasted like heaven.

He growled, irritated with him self for bringing up the past. _Like I'd ever get to experience heaven._

* * *

I shivered; this huge room that contained all the mutant cages did not hold heat well at all.

"It's warmer by the back."

I glanced over to my left, and that girl Emma was curled up in a ball in the back of her cage, the furthest point from the lock. "Why?" I asked.

"The heat vents are back here," she said. I scooted to the back of my cage. Sure enough, it _was _warmer. Not comfortably, but it helped.

"Thanks."

"No problem." She shut her eyes. I did the same, trying to get comfortable in this prison of the worst kind. _Mama, what did you see in him?_ I wondered before I drifted off to sleep. _Because whatever it was, I sure don't see it._

* * *

Emma Frost, a mutant that could turn her skin into an impenetrable diamond-like substance, woke up to a repetitious _thum thum thum_ sound. Opening her eyes, she looked over at the new girl, Val. She was walking around the perimeter of her cage with her hand out, letting it hit the bars. That was what produced the sound. "Val?" she asked. The other girl took no notice of her; her eyes were barely open. Emma continued to watch until Val finally curled back up in the corner of her cage.

_She sleepwalks,_ Emma thought. _Weird._ But it wasn't all that weird. Everyone coped somehow. She shook her blond head and tried to sleep too.

**AN: Since I haven't updated in a while, I'll try to post tomorrow, or real soon, to make up for it. thanks fun people who read my story!**

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers/alerters/favoriters! You all rock! even you silent readers, you do too! Please continue to do so! :D  
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	7. Skippy and Maroon

**7: Skippy and Maroon**

_We were born with wings  
We were made to fly  
We were meant to live while we're still alive  
~~'Alive' Superchick_

"Rise and shine, kiddos!" A painfully cheerful voice called into my dreams.

I moaned and mumbled, "Shut up." I was cold and tired and it was _too early_.

"You'd better get up," a female voice told me warningly. "They throw water on you if you don't show some signs of life." I opened my eyes blearily. It was that blond girl- Emma.

Close-cropped brown hair, a sleeveless red shirt, and sword hilts poking up above his shoulders marked the man with the disgustingly cheerful attitude. "Who's Skippy?" I asked Emma, as he went around to the other cages.

"Wade Wilson. Agile kind of mutant. Loves his blades." She smirked. "They call him the merc with the mouth because he never stops talking."

"I still think Skippy fits him better." My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten in at least a day. "Do they feed us any time soon?"

She nodded. "In shifts."

Joy to the world. I rubbed my hand, which ached a bit and was redder than my skin tone.

She continued, "The others are mostly cowed, so it's only required that one mutant soldier be with each group. But for Remy and I, they put a guard on each of us."

"Who?"

She nodded at the cage across from her. "Him. The guards call him Gambit." The young man across from her had brown hair, kind of long, and wore a hat that looked like a Fedora. He saw me staring at him and tipped his hat. I smiled.

"How d'y' do, _mademoiselle_?" He asked me with a New Orleans accent.

"Well enough, considering," I replied.

Skippy, Agent Zero, and a black man in a cowboy hat unlocked our cages. "C'mon out." We did, and we gained a living shadow as we were guided down the hallway of the cage room and out into another corridor.

My shadow was Skippy. "Hey. You're squishing my personal bubble," I told him, trying to brush his gloved hand off my shoulder.

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, _Kitty_," he said, squeezing my shoulder. "But orders are orders."

"Wade." The cowboy said in warning, looking over at Skippy.

Wade raised an eyebrow innocently. "What, John?"

John shook his head and didn't comment.

We entered a cafeteria-style kitchen, reminiscent of a school lunchroom, minus the healthy signs with happy veggies on them. I grabbed the cereal and 1% milk and sat down.

"Is it always like this?" I asked Emma, as we ignored our shadows and vice versa.

"Just about. But don't worry," she said, grinning wickedly. "It gets better. You'll probably get a uniform soon."

I stared at their maroon clothes. "Fabulous."

* * *

Col. William Stryker was writing up his report on mutant 0023, otherwise known as Valiant Fortitude Drake.  
_Mother: Rue Saffron Drake_

_Father: Victor Creed_

_Age: 15_

_DOB: to be determined._

_Powers: slight healing factor, not nearly as powerful as her father's, but still able to fight off a day's worth of knock-out drug in six hours. She has cat ears and possibly heightened senses. Unknown to whether or not she possesses a variant of her mother's abilities. _

He thought a moment, and then added, _could be used on tests Creed refused to take._

* * *

"Ugh," I said in disgust, staring at the maroon material. I didn't have anything against the color in general, but… it was _everywhere_. "These are granny panties," I said, holding up a pair in the ever-present maroon.

"Take them anyway. It gets cold and your clothes will only be washed once a week," the lady doctor said.

"How hygienic," I said with a twist to my mouth. We were in a storeroom full of clothes; Skippy and Agent Zero waited outside. I gathered up my stash of new clothes and followed the woman to a communal bathroom. I entered one of the stalls and put on the clothes. These people clearly subscribed to the one-size-fits-most inspiration. Everything fit well enough, except the shoes. They were too big. I walked out and the woman snatched my old clothes out of my hand.

"Hey! Those are mine."

"Not anymore." She walked away and Skippy and Zero took over.

* * *

"Skippy, let go of my arm."

"Or what? You don't have claws like your dad." He grinned. "Gonna bite me to death?"

I growled.

"Ooh, I'm so scared of the little kitty. You know, Creed must have $#&^#% a real %*#& to get you, you know that?"

There is one thing you do not do if you value your life, and that thing is insult my mother. I jumped on him before he could reach for his blades and landed two good punches before he swung his swords. I hissed as they sliced my upper arm open, and jumped back, but not far enough. The tip of one of his blades caught my over my eye, and it bled, making it hard to see. Swinging his blades like scythes, he came at me fast. I only just barely kept out of reach. _If I get seriously cut from one of those, I don't know how fast I could heal before the next one hits me! _I thought frantically. Zero was leaning against the wall and looking at his watch. He didn't care. And that made me angry. I snarled and ran at Skippy, at the last moment diving for the floor and sliding through his legs. I regained my feet and jumped on his back, going for his eyes with my nails. I didn't need claws if I went for his eyes. I scratched him well before he swung his blade around and sliced my back open.

Howling, I let go and fell to the floor. _I really need to learn how to fight, _I thought, panting with exhaustion. I reached around to feel how bad the cut on my back was, and my hand came back covered in blood. _Hey, look at that. I bleed maroon, too. _

* * *

Victor Creed knew the scent of blood, and he smelled it now. He knew the sound of fighting, and he heard it now. And he knew from the scent that Wade was having it out with his cub. He roared and headed for the corridor.

* * *

I coughed as the wound on my back started to close itself. Wade spun his blade around. "Looks like the kitty needs to learn when to pounce."

The sharp, dangerous scent was back, along with footsteps almost completely silent, ones only I could hear. I looked Wade in the eye. "I don't have to."

"Why's that? Your pounce stunk, pussy-cat." He swung the other sword.

I sat up. "I'm not the one pouncing." He realized what I was talking about a nanosecond before Creed leapt out of the shadows with a roar. I got out of the way fast as they proceeded to have a knockdown, drag out fight. They both inflicted some pretty good shots on each other, and I told myself not to be concerned. I didn't care about either of them. But I did watch closely to pick up some tips. Or so I told myself.

"Wilson! Victor!" Stryker barked, striding down the corridor. "Stand down!"

* * *

Sabertooth growled, angry at being interrupted. Wilson backed away slowly, his eyes wary. Victor slowly retracted his claws and tried to pull the beast back inside. He obeyed this man's voice only because he earned good money at this job, and he liked what he did.

* * *

"I thought I told you no brawling except in the training room." Stryker tapped his foot, looking between Creed and Skippy, waiting for an answer.

"He started it," I offered, pointing to Wade.

Stryker flashed a glance at Zero, who nodded in affirmative. "Wade…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Laps." Wilson set off at a jog around the compound.

"A run wouldn't hurt you either, Victor," Stryker said. All he got in response was a growl. He turned to me. "Do you want to tell me how this started?"

I raised an eyebrow. "No."

He motioned at Agent Zero. "Take her back to her cell."

The Asian man yanked me up and walked me out of the room, but not before I muttered, "Cage."

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	8. Plans for Escape

**8: Plans for Escape**

_So it's me against the world today,  
I'm gonna do it my own way  
~~'Me Against the World' by Superchick_

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke to a heated whispering conversation. Lifting my head from its position on my knees, I looked around to discover the source of the sounds. Emma was at the front of her cage, conversing with Remy, who was also at the front of _his _cage. I kicked off my over-sized shoes and padded up to the bars in maroon socks. Their conversation stopped when they saw that I was awake.

"I have very good hearing," I said in a soft whisper, motioning toward my furry cat ears. "What's going on?"

Remy gave Emma a look, and she shrugged. "Ah'm workin' on a plan t' escape," he told me.

"But only for him," Emma added. "I can't go."  
"Why?" I asked, scooting closer.

"My sister. They've told her if she does what they want, I'll be released." Emma rolled her eyes. "They told _me_ if I tried to leave, she'd be killed. That's why I can only help."

"What 'bout y'?" Remy asked me. "Do y' want t' escape?"

I thought about it. I couldn't go back to Carrie. They'd only find me again. And where else could I go? I would be on the run. "I _want_ to. But…I think it will be better if only you escaped. I can help, though. What's the plan?"

The long and the short of it was this: Remy played cards with some of the soldiers sometimes, which was where he got his hat. It would have to be when he was playing poker with them, because his power needed something to work through. But a diversion was needed to, well, divert attention and get the soldiers off guard. "We can't decide how to do the diversion, though," Emma said, "Because you and I will still be in our cells."

"Cages," I said without thinking. "What about bathroom time?"

"No good, Val. We have a mutant guard on us."

"Humph." I thought about this. "And there's no way to get past those locks?"

"What, you pick locks?"

"No. I hoped one of you did."

Remy said, "Ah can, but Ah've already tried dese out. No go. We need t' come up wid somethin' soon. Dukes left o' somethin', and Wade and Zero are on a mission; dat only leaves Creed and Wraith. We gotta go while dey're at half strength."

I sighed. "I stink at plan-making."

* * *

_Flashback_

"Why're your ears so ugly?" My seven-year-old self turned slowly. Recess had been one of the fun parts of my day at school, but now I was starting to hate it. The boy behind me was certainly one to talk; his ears stuck off of his head like handlebars, and his short crew cut didn't help matters.

"They aren't ugly," I said defensively. Mama always said my ears were beautiful and special, and I believed her.

"Yes they are. _No one_ has ears like that. My mother says you're a freak!"

"Yeah," agreed his cronies.

"I am not!" I yelled hotly, my ears lying back against my skull.

"My mother says your mother shouldn't be allowed to keep you. They should send you to a zoo or something, weirdo! Ugly freak! Ugly freak! Ugly freak!" they taunted, throwing the words at me like missiles. I yowled and threw myself at the instigator.

Scuffling in the dirt, we both mostly missed when we hit each other because of age and rage. I might have blacked his eye, and he busted my lip pretty good before the teachers broke us apart. It healed on the way to the office, though.

The boy got off with a slap on the wrist, but I got suspended. My mother stormed up to the school and demanded to know what had happened. I have no idea what went on between her and the school officials, but I didn't have to go back there again.  
"You're going to be homeschooled. I'll be your teacher now, Valiant," my mother told me. It was perfectly fine with me. I would be completely happy if I never went back to school again.

Unfortunately, when my mother died, I had to.

* * *

"Do you know you sleepwalk?" Emma asked the next day.

I froze for a second, wondering why I hadn't thought to ask about it. "Yes, but I didn't know I was doing it here. What happens?" I asked warily.

She shrugged. "You get up and walk around. Hit your hands on the bars."

"Do I talk?"

She shook her head no. "If you have, I haven't heard you."

I sighed, relieved. There was the answer to my hand discoloration. And thank God I hadn't been talking. I don't think I could handle it if anyone heard me.

Mama had learned a long time ago that I only walked in my sleep if I was not comfortable or uneasy. She had also learned not to wake me up, but to just guide me back to bed.

At that moment, remembering what had happened when she had shaken me awake while I was sleepwalking, I received a scathingly brilliant idea. All right, it was an exaggeration, but anything seemed inspired after beating my head against the wall trying to think of a way out.

"Emma!" I said. "I've got an idea."

She scooted over, a hopeful expression on her face. "What, Val?"

I told her, and she clasped her hands. "It's not much, but it's all I've got," I said.

She nodded and motioned surreptitiously at Remy. "We've got a plan."

* * *

That very afternoon, the guards that Remy played poker with came to organize a game. I crossed my toes inside my too-big shoes. _Please God, let this work._

"Wanna join in on the poker game, Gambit?" the talkative guard asked.

"Sure," Remy replied, getting up. As he exited his cage, he gave me a look. I nodded; I would try my best. I counted to one hundred five times with my eyes closed, and then got up and started to do what Emma had described to me: walk around my cage, eyes only half open, letting my hand hit the bars.

"Hey, Val! Val!" Emma said loudly. I could see her out of the corner of my eye, motioning at the guard that usually snoozed in the corner when he was supposed to be watching us. "Hey, you! Come here!" He gave her a look. "This girl is being weird. What should I do?" Emma asked, giving me an anxious, worried look that actresses would kill for.

He got up uneasily and walked up to our cages. Paying them no attention, I started walking faster, giving my walk a little rhythm.

Emma kept up with her prattle. "I don't know what's going on with her. Is she sleepwalking?"

"Shut up, girl," the guard said, apparently thinking nothing of importance was going on.

He couldn't leave! This might be our one chance. I began to moan a little, and shake my head from side to side.

"Do you think you should wake her up? She looks like she's having a nightmare. What if something's wrong with her?" Emma said desperately. "Stryker won't like it if you let something bad happen to her."

Apparently, Stryker's name had enough weight to make him concerned. Before unlocking the door, he pulled his pistol out of his gun belt and leveled it at the both of us. This was going to be tricky. The cage door swung open and he stepped into my cell.

"Be careful, you don't know what she'll do if you wake her," Emma warned.

By this time I had added a sway to my walk. The guard stared askance at me as I made my rounds around the cage. Reaching out with his hand, he touched my shoulder.

My eyes shot open, I froze in place, and my back started to tingle. I screamed a high-pitched hawk cry intermixed with shocked human. He cursed and backed up, lowering his gun in his alarm. The prickle of feathers graced my back, and I roared, barreling into him, shoving him out of my cage and knocking the gun from his hand. My dark grey wings thwacked him, and he stumbled back; Emma was already there to catch him. In her diamond form, she grabbed his arms through the bars and didn't let go as he pummeled her and struggled to reach his other gun.

"Go, go!" she told me, holding tight to her captive. I ran to the end of the room and hit the switch to open the huge doors. Cheers and whistles erupted around me. _I'm giving them hope,_ I thought as I squeezed through the opening and flapped my wings to take off.

I flew along the corridor, calling in eagle, shaking up the soldiers. They took pot shots at me, but I dodged. My goal was to make as much noise as possible; I was merely the diversion for the real escape.

* * *

"Your turn to deal, Gambit," a disgruntled soldier said as Remy won another hand. He took the cards in his hand, about to deal a new game.

"One of the mutants has escaped!" A soldier called as he ran into the room that served as a lounge. The guards looked up and some stood.

"Not just _un_, _homme_," Remy said, picking a card up off the deck. His eyes turned red, and the playing card sparked, full of kinetic energy. Tossing it at the group of soldiers, Gambit heard the explosion before he dashed out of the room, his winnings in his pocket. He'd have to make these cards last; he had a ways to go. Running stealthily down the corridor, he hoped to heaven Val was doing a good job. If Wraith or Creed got a hold of him, it would be all over.

* * *

"Victor!" John said, materializing in Victor Creed's room. "Your kid's loose!"

Creed looked up from the briefing folder that contained the contents of his next mission. He growled. "Where?"

* * *

I drew a bit more attention than I had planned. All the flying bullets scared me badly; I barely dodged them in time. I went up, merely because I thought Remy would go the opposite way. All of a sudden, a man –John –popped up in front of me, holding a gun. I swerved and my wings knocked off his cowboy hat. I was past the point of panic now, because my mouth refused to make saliva and my palms could not stop sweating. A shot rang out from behind me and I felt the burn of a bullet in my leg. I howled and flew faster, feeling the wind whip past my face and into my eyes, clouding my vision. I didn't see the other person until I hit them.

We went over and rolled for a few feet, my wings getting bent and twisted around. I pulled myself away, limping because of my leg, which still hadn't closed itself. I growled when I saw that it was my father. He grinned at me with his canines, having gotten to his feet much sooner than me. I brought up my wings behind me and crouched. I was cornered, and I was a dangerous animal. Not a good combination. I lunged at him, growling and slapping him with my wings the way swans do when threatened. Claws found the skin underneath my feathers, and I hissed, breaking away again. Blood began to stain the grey of my wings. Vaguely aware we were doing a circling sort of motion, I leapt at him again, and he used my momentum to toss me over his head. There was a peaceful flight through the air before my skull struck the wall and I crumpled to the floor.

Cowboy man appeared by me again, holding a syringe of something. I hissed frantically, trying to get away, but my head was too hazy and I hurt too much. I didn't _like_ needles. The last thing I remembered was that a whole bunch more people had entered the room, and I pulled my wings back into myself. My wings were the one part of me that they would _not_ get.

**Thanks to my lovely reviewers/alerters/favoriters! You all rock! even you silent readers, you do too! Please continue to do so! :D  
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	9. Punishment

**An: Kinda short. More coming soon, however. To anyone who reads Secrets -It will be up as soon as I finish writing it.**

**9: Punishment**

_You're a crusader, you've made me your fight  
Your superhero name is Mr. right  
Instead of trying to understand  
You tell all your friends how wrong I am  
You're not listening to me ~~'Na Na' -Superchic[k]_

Major William Stryker stood outside of Emma Frost's cage, tapping his toe with a grim look on his face. "Emma."

Emma Frost frowned inwardly. She did not like the way he said her name. He was not her father or any authority she recognized. She did not respond.

"Emma. Didn't I warn you of the consequences of escaping? The harm it could do to your sister?"

She bristled. "I didn't escape."

"So I see. Still…"

"No. No 'still's, 'but's, or 'however's. I broke no vow, made no promise. Do not lecture me." She glared, crossing her arms over her chest.

Stryker frowned. This was a new development. It was the fault of Creed's girl, no doubt. He'd have to deal with her soon. She had a spirit like her father.

But she could be useful. He smiled to himself, beginning to make plans.

* * *

My dreams were chaotic as my body fought off the anesthetic. I dropped into a memory, enhanced by the effect of the drugs in my system.

_My mother and I were driving home from a night in a larger city to the west. The night was dark and I was tired; so was she. I curled up in the passenger's seat and dozed off. I woke to a sharp jerk and a thump. Looking over at my mother, I noticed her eyes were wide with alarm. "Mom? What's going on?"_

_"I think I hit something!" she said. But she didn't stop._

_She didn't stop._

_She didn't –_

_Something hit the back of our car, throwing us forward against our taut seatbelts. Our car began to roll forward, and I watched it as if in a dream, seeing the ground come up close to the windshield, hearing the crack before the windshield shattered in our faces. Blood seeped out of cuts and stung, burned, like fire. Coming to rest on the top of the car, we hung upside down. Somewhere in there, the air bags had deployed, so I stared at a big white cloud before watching it dissolve into black dots._

_The next things I saw in my dream were paramedics lifting me into an ambulance. My face and arms were covered in blood, but all the big gashes had healed by themselves._

_"Mom?" I say around the oxygen mask. They whisper at me and tell me to shush, be still, everything would be all right. Not to worry, they said. _

_Not to worry. Ha. I knew something was wrong in the very core of me._

_And I was right. _

_Some man in a white coat came into my hospital room and told me my mother was dead. My mother, the only family I had. The only one who understood. The one who had taught me to fly. I _screamed._ I screamed and screamed and screamed and only stopped when my throat choked me._

_At the funeral, I was screaming still. But I screamed my pain silently. _

_My mother was dead. And I was alone._

And that was when I woke up.

* * *

Victor Creed seethed with hidden anger as he got into his black car and drove off Three Mile Island. Suddenly he has mission after mission, task after task, and assignment after assignment. Stryker had told him to just do them all at once, and only return to the base when he had finished. _Like #*%_, he thought to himself. If Victor had learned anything from the past six years, it was how to read Stryker.

Stryker was planning something, and if he didn't want Victor to know, it either had to do with Jimmy or his cub. Jimmy was long gone and he and Stryker had a deal concerning him, so it had to be the cub.

The only thing to do was to get all of his assignments done as quickly as possible, and get back. He wanted this job and liked doing it, but if Stryker thought he was going to mess with his cub, he had another thing coming.

* * *

I opened my eyes to gray. Gray walls, gray floor, gray door, and a gray security camera. Sitting up, I put my hand to my head. There was no bruising, but the phantom pain remained. I lay back down, noting that I just barely fit the length of this room lying down. Three of me side by side would take up all the floor space. And it was just as bare as the cage.

_Mama, why are you dead? Why aren't you here? _I shut my eyes and curled into a ball. I could heal all my outward injuries, but my healing factor didn't do anything for pain in my heart. _Dreaming comes so easily. But I don't want to dream. Mama, I don't want to remember, but I'm terrified to forget. I should have died that day, but I didn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

Keys clanged in the lock and I lifted my lip in a snarl.

"Hello, Val. Do you remember Dr. Carol?"

You do not extend greetings to a rattlesnake that is holding you captive and has robbed you of the only life you knew. I did not move.

"You had quite an idea there, helping the Cajun escape. You have promise, you know, just like your father."

"Let me promise you something," I said abruptly, rolling over to face him. "I promise that you will never, ever break me."

"We'll see," Stryker said, his eyes hard. "Starting now. Let's begin with seeing just how long you can survive without food. Doctor?"

The woman nodded, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "The camera will monitor the process. If you attempt to tamper with it in any way, you will be punished."

They left, and the door slammed shut.

_News Flash: the diversion was injured in performing her function. Assumed that the object gained his freedom. The diversion has been isolated and food supply cut off. More bulletins to come at a later date._

Right then, my stomach growled. Perfect.

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	10. Starvation in Solitary

**An: my bad. school is crazy. hope you like it though! :)**

**_10: Starvation in Solitary_**

_So hey hey, this song is for us  
So put your hands in the air  
if you're crazy like us  
"Hey hey" ~Superchic[k]_

I made my first mistake right off the bat. I decided to sleep. When I woke up, I fell asleep again. But finally, I reached a point where my body said, 'I'm full up on sleep! I don't want any more!' and I was stuck wide-awake. That was part one of the mistake. The second part was that I hadn't kept track of how long I had been in that little room. It could have been a day, or it could have been four. I had no way of knowing.

For the first little bit, I stared at the wall and thought about the predicament I was in, if there was any way to escape, things I'd like to do to Stryker, stuff like that. But I quickly realized that those thoughts only lead me in circles and I was going to go crazy very quickly if I kept up with that. I tried to think of nothing after that.

Have you ever tried to think of nothing? Let me tell you, it doesn't work. Even if you're thinking of a blank piece of paper, it's still _something._ You eventually start thinking about how big the paper is and whether or not you can get a paper cut on its edges even if it's only imaginary, and whether it's on something or just floating in space inside your mind. You begin to think about what could go on that piece of paper, and eventually your brain is full of thoughts.

After staring at the wall and letting my brain go crazy, I needed to do something. Anything. So I began to recite my timetables. I got all the way up to sixteen before I got stuck. Then I tried to do some mental math to figure the rest out. I did them through twenty-two that way before my math skills failed me. There are only so many times you can carry in your head before you get mixed up and forget all the numbers. I tried to recall all the presidents in the correct order. _That_ was an epic fail. I got to number seven before I forgot the order. So I just named all the presidents I knew. I named 30 out of thirty-something, and felt pretty proud for remembering James Garfield and Calvin Coolidge. I thought about trying to remember Newton's laws, but I decided not to, since I had usually slept in science class.

Somewhere along those lines, my brain fizzled. I needed to _do_ something, not just think! I considered physical things such as push-ups and jumping jacks, and then told myself, "Val! You need to save your strength!" Rolling over, I started to pick at my too-large shoes. The laces were maroon too. Did they dump all the clothes in some huge vat of dye and then –

Shoelaces.

My eyebrows about shot off my face at this epiphany. Hurriedly, I unlaced one of my sneakers, pulling them through the eyelets. Taking the two ends, I tied them together and smiled. Have you ever played those string games? You can make all manner of things, like cup and saucer, Eiffel tower, and Jacob's ladder. You can also make a sizable knot, as I found out when I forgot what I was doing and messed up.

That kept me occupied for a long time. As I played the string games, a thought occurred to me: were they going to let me out to go to the bathroom?

But, as I discovered, if you do not eat, there is nothing to go to the bathroom _for._

In the next several days I invented new shadow puppets, played an imaginary piano, sang all the songs I could remember, tapped out endless rhythms, and cat-napped. I enjoyed periods of numbness from my stomach, but they came with less and less frequency, overpowered by growing, ravenous pain in my abdomen. During those periods, I curled up in a ball and thought about a report I had done on pirates.

It seemed that they had gotten either marooned or stranded, they were out of shot and they couldn't catch anything. I didn't know if I was remembering right; my thoughts were pretty hazy on the details. Apparently, they had cut up strips of leather, boiled them, and eaten them, being just as hungry as I was. At times like these, I stared at my shoelaces and wondered how they would taste. But reason would always take over, telling me that while they would fill my stomach, they provided no nourishment. How would I cut them? I couldn't boil them. So I would wait for the hunger to pass, angry at the world, and especially my captors.

I started keeping track of the times I fell asleep, assuming that if I slept deeply it had probably been a full night's sleep. After keeping track like that, I estimated I had been in that room five days, not counting the long periods of sleep at the beginning.

* * *

Victor tucked the vial inside his coat and motioned toward the soldiers some distance off. They'd ship the mutant back to Three Mile Island. That was the last of the three mutants he had been sent for. Now, getting into his car, Victor drove north, going to look for something that had been bothering him for some time. After many hours, he spotted the small weathered sign that read, "Welcome to Blue Mountain, Montana." He smiled and turned in. Dusk was falling quickly, a premonition of the coming winter. He parked on a side street of the small town and got out of his car, his black coat blowing in the wind. Walking slowly, guided by a fifteen year old memory, he finally arrived at a small house with a for-sale sign in the yard. Going around the back, he peered in a window. The rooms were bare, no furniture or belongings defined them. Creed frowned, thinking, making plans. He jotted down the realtor's number from the for-sale sign.

Abruptly, he turned and walked two blocks to a small roadside motel and rented a room. The clerk was bored and didn't pay him much attention, which was how he liked it. Using the key to open the door, he tossed his bags that he had collected from his car onto the bed and shucked off his coat.

Victor caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. He had looked exactly the same for at least a hundred years. He growled, angry with himself for following this trail of memories. Surely there wasn't any reason to come back here.

But his instincts told him something was up, and Victor always trusted his instincts. He picked up the phone and dialed a number of an old contact that worked in with FBI.

The phone clicked. "Hello?"

"Roy, it's Victor Creed."

"Victor." There was silence at the other end of the line.

"I'm calling in that favor you owe me, Roy," Creed said in a low voice.

"…All right. What do you need?"

"Get me all the information you can find in every channel about Rue Saffron Drake and Valiant Fortitude Drake, package it all up, and mail it express to my post office box in Seattle."

"Sure thing. What are you looking for?"

"I don't know yet," Victor said, a slight snarl hidden in his voice. "That's why I want everything you can get your hands on."

"You got it. We're square after this …right?"

Victor frowned and stared out his motel window. "Sure, Roy. We're square."

* * *

During the fifth day, I was playing with my shoes, pretending they were ships being attacked by pirates. The imaginary pirates were just boarding my left shoe when keys rang in the lock.

"Val."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Do you want my pirates to attack you, too?"

"Your antics have been amusing the past seven days, but we've got more tests to run."

_So that's how long I've been here._ "Do I get food?"

"No."

"Then no dice," I said, facing the wall.

"I'm afraid you don't get a say in the matter," Stryker said, and before I knew it, muscled hands grabbed me by my arms and lifted me up and out of the room, leaving my shoes behind. I struggled, but I had been weakened by my imposed fast. I was in no condition to out muscle these soldiers. Looking up into their faces, I recognized Skippy and the soldier whose ear I bit –Olsen. _News flash: her two favorite people in the world have taken the operative captive. NOT! Being subjected to unknown tests. Situation: not good._ I was led back to the lab and strapped to the same hard metal table.

"Val." _Would he ever stop saying my name?_ "We'd like to run some tests. We know about your wings. How do you grow them?"

I seemed to remember a similar scenario involving questions and a scalpel.

"Val." Stryker leaned over me with a faux compassionate look. "We would like you to grow your wings for us. But meanwhile, we will be testing your healing factor." Ominous silence. I stared into his eyes, trying to figure out if there was anything remotely human in his gaze.

Conclusion: none at all. "However, if you decide to grow your wings for us, we will stop the tests immediately."

There was no way in h$% that they were getting their hands on the wings my mother gave me. "I do not respond to threats," I said coldly, my hair spilling over the edge of the table.

He pursed his lips. "Fine. Doctor, you may begin."

The blond woman, whose name I had forgotten, picked up a syringe. _Needles, ugh._ I turned my head away and waited for the burn. It came –in my neck. A firm hand was placed on my head to prevent me from moving. _Ow ow ow get it out! It hurts!_ I could feel the needle come out of my skin and my empty stomach lurched. _Oh, dear._ An older male doctor picked up a scalpel and I clenched my fists, anticipating; Wade and Olsen were setting up a video camera.

The doctors began mumbling their doctor jargon to each other, and when the scalpel made an incision on my leg I gasped and began mumbling incoherently. I didn't start to scream until they made to other slits and pulled my skin back, exposing muscle. Then my lungs forced the air out of me. Even thought I was screaming bloody murder, it was like no one could hear me. The doctors went on mumbling, Stryker, Skippy, and Olsen kept watching, and no one paid the least bit of attention to me. _These kinds of tests have been done before,_ I thought weakly._ On other people, at other times. But I will not give in! I will not!_

They stood over me, watching my muscles reattach themselves to my skin and mend the tears. That was one of the few reliefs I had.

Cut.

_Mama, do you remember what you said to me? _I wondered silently around my screams.

Snip.

Slice. More howls from me.

_You always said I was the strong one, Mama, but I think it was really you. I don't feel so strong right now._ Worst. Understatement. Of. All. Time. I roared in cat.

A buzz began, and I turned to see the older male doctor holding a drill. _OH NONONO Ahhh no no no nononono…._

I was so scared I forgot to breathe, and so… I fainted.

**People reading this story -you're awesome! Love you all! The button is longing for feedback!  
**


	11. Mysteries

**11: Mysteries**

_Got a secret_  
_ Can you keep it?_  
_ Swear this one you'll save_  
_ Better lock it, in your pocket_  
_ Taking this one to the grave_  
_ 'Secret' ~ The Pierces_

**The next day**

The bell jingled on the door of the Records office. Victor looked around the small room that smelled like paper and old things. He raised an eyebrow, and rang the bell on the desk to summon the clerk.

"Hmm?" An old frail walked out of an inner office. The man was at least sixty, balding and probably hard of hearing. "What can I do for you?"

"I'd like you to look up some things for me."

"Shoot." The man licked his pencil and grabbed a pad of paper.

"Birth Certificate for Valiant Fortitude Drake, and death certificate for Rue Saffron Drake." Victor had an inkling of how Stryker operated, based on the other mutants he had captured. He wanted all his bases covered; the cub was _his,_ *#$ it.

The old man jotted this down. "I'll go see." He disappeared into the back room again.

Victor disliked paperwork. It made things altogether too complicated. In this world, however, paper governed everything. So he had to get the papers to prove his claim on the cub.

"Here they are," the frail said, handing him the certificates. Victor looked at the birth certificate and smiled, showing the tips of his fangs. _Good girl, Rue._ She hadn't given the kid his name, but he was on the certificate as her father. The death certificate said Rue had died in a car crash and had been pronounced DOA, dead on arrival.

"Do you keep newspapers?"

"No; if you want them, they'd either be at the library or the newspaper office."

Victor nodded and gathered up the papers. "Hold on, now," the frail said, "the records stay in the record office." Victor frowned ominously, his eyes growing dark. "But… I can make copies for you."

"You do that," Victor said, on the verge of growling.

"Costs a buck per copy."

Victor narrowed his eyes and considered just killing him outright, but he didn't need the cleanup problems right then. The whole point was to get done fast. He pulled out his wallet and showed the man two dollars. "Then copy, old man."

* * *

With two copies in his pocket, Victor headed over to the library, the closer of the two locations. It was practically deserted at noon, and the old woman behind the desk looked up eagerly for something to do.

_What the *#$, is this whole town full of frails?_ Victor wondered inwardly, but reminded himself how much time the cleanup would take if he killed her. "Where do you keep old newspaper records?"

"Oh, they would be on the microfilm down in the basement. What year do you need?"

"Pretty much everything since about 1959." He followed the woman down to the basement and she showed him where everything was and got him the film.

"Let me know if you need anything else," she said helpfully. Victor nodded curtly and threaded the microfilm machine carefully.

There was a small announcement about his cub's birth, but that was all the information having anything to do with Rue and Val for a long time. The scrolling was tedious and Victor was very sure that anybody else besides him would get a monstrous headache and eyestrain. As it was, he was just bored stiff, but he kept at it, skipping up to two years ago, when the death certificate was dated.

Ah, here was the obit for Rue. Victor frowned. It didn't say a whole lot more than the death certificate. Car crashed, and she died. Buried in the cemetery, yada yada yada.

_Hold it…_

Victor pulled the death certificate out of his pocket and took a closer look.

**Place of Disposition:** _Burial _Entombment _X_Cremation _Donation _Removal From State _Other

He growled; something was definitely wrong.

_"… NO, we only _pretended_ to bury her…"_

His cub had said something about burying. The newspaper said something about a cemetery. But the death certificate said cremation. Someone had either made a _big_ mistake, or they had done a rotten job of covering their tracks. But right here was the name of the certifying physician and the signature of the funeral service licensee. Creed smiled. He was finally getting somewhere.

* * *

Back in his hotel room, he called the number of the realtor from the for-sale sign yesterday.

"Hello?"

"Hello, I'm calling about the corner house on Spruce Drive –"

"Are you interested?"

The woman on the other end sounded ecstatic with hope. He'd shoot that down right now. "No. I called to see if you knew what happened to the belongings of the woman who lived there previously."

"…It's all been put into storage... Excuse me, who is this?"

"Detective, ma'am," Victor lied, "Ms. Drake's relatives would like to reclaim her belongings."

"Well, I've got a key to the storage building…" the woman seemed unsure.

"I'll come over to your office and get it." By hook or by crook. Creed hung up.

* * *

Victor turned the key in the stiff lock, pulling open the storage unit. Flipping on the lone light bulb, he stared around at the dusty cardboard boxes and a few pieces of cloth-covered furniture. Well, what had he expected?

He began going through boxes, not sure what he was looking for. He found an old photo album that said _Our First Year_ on the cover. Turning the pages slowly with his claws, Victor stared at the fist picture. It was a tiny red baby whose hospital cap had not managed to cover the abnormal ears, even then. There was another picture, with a tired but proud Rue holding the baby –Val. He skipped the next couple of pages to the middle. There was Rue and a bigger and less red Val, proudly displaying her first tooth. Victor smirked slightly. It was a baby album. He put the book down and dug deeper into the box. Photographs of Rue and Val together, her light blond hair mixing in with Val's darker gold, and reels of film for a projector. He began to hunt around for the projector, his night vision making it easy, even in the dim light. He finally found it in a corner, hidden by a chest of drawers. He took the box of pictures, the film, and the projector, closing the door of the storage unit behind him.

**People reading this story -sorry there's no Val-action! More coming soon :)  
**


	12. Forced Baptism

**12: Forced Baptism**

_There's a raging sea  
Right in front of me  
Wants to pull me in  
Bring me to my knees  
So let the waters rise  
If You want them to  
I will follow You  
"Let the Waters Rise" ~~ Mikeschair_

I spent the next day drifting in and out of consciousness. I was back in the gray room, and I thought this place was as close to hell as I'd ever been. The only thing I felt up to was watching my bruises slowly change color and waiting for them to disappear. Biology class had informed me just what my body did when it healed itself. Bruises were blood cells under the skin, released when veins or capillaries broke. The collected blood causes the color, and the changing color means the body is metabolizing, or breaking down, the blood cells in the skin. AKA: it's healing, and I could watch it going on.

I knew my healing factor wasn't very good. Plus, the added fact that my body had nothing to work off of since I hadn't gotten any nourishment for, what, eight days now? How long could my body keep repairing itself? All machines needed a source of power to work, whether gasoline, batteries, electricity, whatever. My body was a million times more complex that a machine, but it still needed fuel to work. How long could somebody go without food? Right about then, I wished I had been a boy scout. They probably learned those things, and lots of survival stuff too.

Boy, these thoughts were sure depressing. I sat up and gazed at my sneakers, remembering the game I had played just yesterday. I had no will to continue it anymore.

_There's gotta be a way out of here. I just have to hang on. No way are they winning. Mom didn't name me Valiant Fortitude for nothing. _Valiant meant showing or possessing courage or determination. Fortitude meant courage in pain or adversity. I would live up to my name. _You can be proud of me, Mama. I won't give up. _

A key turned in the lock, and my stomach plummeted. Lifting my chin, I told myself fiercely, _What's the point of the powerful pep talk if you don't walk the walk as well? Prove what you say. _

"Val."

_God, I am scared to death. Please don't let me die._ I got up and said, "You really need to stop saying my name."

* * *

I stared at the huge water tank, and I did not like what I saw. "I don't think so."

"Then show us your wings," Stryker said patiently, and I wished I had the kind of claws that my father did, because then I could rip his ugly face off.

"No." I shook my head.

"Then get in the tank."

"Give me food, and then I'll get in the tank."

"No, Val." Stryker stared at me. "I don't have to negotiate with you. I could simply have you tossed in the tank."

"Why do you want me in the tank? You trying to see whether all cats really hate water?" I asked spitefully.

"We're seeing how long your healing factor works underwater."

Huh? It didn't matter where I was; my healing factor worked all the time. Usually. Now I wasn't so sure, but still… I flipped my dark blond hair off my shoulder and glanced back at the water tank. A metal frame with bars hung above it, ready to be lowered. My heart went cold, and I felt sick.

"You're going to try to drown me?" I asked softly and incredulously.

Stryker just looked at me.

"That's murder!" _You sick #*&%#..._

"But you won't die, Val," he said, his brown leather shoes squeaking on the tiles as he walked toward me.

"You don't know that! You have no way of knowing!" I exclaimed, backing up, looking for an escape route. All exits were locked, all doors shut… except for one that was opening. I sprinted for it. The figure coming through the door pulled a blade on me, and I threw myself backward to avoid the swipe. Thudding down onto the hard tile, I scooted away. It was Skippy.

"You sent for me, sir?" Wade asked, twirling his sword.

"Yes. Wade, toss Miss Drake into the water tank," Stryker said, holding the door for more scientists to come in and record whatever happened.

"My pleasure," Skippy said, sheathing his sword. I got to my feet and ran for a door, any door, but a huge weight hit my back and I fell, colliding with the tile _again._ He had tackled me to the ground. "Come on, kitty-kitty. Let's go give you a bath," he said with a smile, wrenching my arms behind my back. I growled and hissed, _don't dump me in there if you value your life!_ He did it anyway, pulling me up the stairs and heaving me into the vat of water.

The water closed over my head and I thrashed to get back up to the surface. Breaking into the air, I felt like a drowned rat instead of a cat. Chain clanged and a lever was pulled, releasing the metal frame down on me. I took a huge breath of air and held it before the frame pushed me down past the surface of the water. I tried to push the bars up, but either I wasn't strong enough or something prevented me from shoving it up. Heart racing, I swam to the glass and banged on it with my fists, staring out into the room even though the water stung my eyes. How long could someone hold his or her breath? Facts flew into my mind about Olympic swimmers who held it two, three, four minutes, but I wasn't an Olympic swimmer. The water was crushing, deep. My lungs had begun to strain, and I slammed my hand again and again on the glass. Didn't any of these people have an ounce of compassion in their hearts? My lungs screamed for air and let the breath I was holding out slowly. Right now, my greatest fear was inhaling a mouthful of water and choking as I died. My fist kept pounding, and the water began to take on a tinge of pink. Black spots appeared at the edges of my vision and I thought, _this is it_.

As my vision slowly disappeared, two figures began having an argument outside in the air. A metallic grinding sound screeched far away, and something dropped with a splash besides me. Strong arms gripped my waist and pushed us to the surface. I gasped for air, but got a mix of oxygen and water. More arms grabbed for me as I was hacking and coughing, desperately trying to get this water out of my lungs. The hard ground was under me when I finally got the air I needed. I closed my eyes and cried as voices argued over me.

"Bill, you just don't do this kind of thing to a child."

"General Munson, I appreciate your opinion, but this is not a child, it is a mutant, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere with my soldiers."

"Bill, if they're soldiers, they aren't just _your_ soldiers. Thank you for obeying orders, son."

"Yes sir, General," someone said.

_Ha, that's funny. It sounds like Wade. I was pulled out by Skippy? Ha ha_. I didn't know who one voice was, but the other voice sounded like Stryker.

I rolled over and stared at the water tank as I felt my stomach begin to scream for food again. I wish I had thought to drink some of it. Now, I would just have to settle for the salty tears that flowed from my eyes.


	13. Interrogation

**AN: Many, MANY apologies for the long wait -I've been very busy. Therefore i am posting 2 chapters! :D to make it up to you. Please enjoy!**

**13: Interrogation**

_Wake me up_  
_(Bid my blood to run)_  
_I can't wake up_  
_(Before I come undone)_  
_Save me_  
_(Save me from the nothing I've become)_  
_I've been living a lie_  
_There's nothing inside_  
_Bring me to life  
Bring me to Life -Evanescence_

Victor threaded the projector with film and pointed it at the white wall of his motel room. It would do for a screen, and with the light off and curtains closed; it would be dark enough to see the film. He flipped a switch and the home movies began playing.

_"Say hello, Val."_

_"Hi!" _A miniature Val called, waving at the camera. She was probably about six or seven. Her ears were pricked with happiness.

_"This is our first try with this new camera, isn't it honey?"_

_"Yes. Mama, can I try it?"_

_"All right, but be careful." _The film tipped and ducked crazily before it righted and settled on a woman with laughing eyes and light blond hair.

_"Say hi mama!"_

_"Hello, Val," _Rue Drake said, tucking her hair behind her ears. She smiled and said_, "Where are we?"_

_"In the mountains," _Val's voice said, and the camera turned to show beautiful scenery, full of mountaintops._ "Mama can you film me flying? I've never seen me doing it."_

_"Okay," _Rue said, laughing. The camera did its dips and turns again and it rested on Val again._ "Just as long as you don't send it to the news station_," she said kiddingly_. "Go to it, kiddo."_

Val grinned and closed her eyes. Two gray wings sprouted from her shoulder blades and lengthened to be at least her own height, and probably longer._ "Are you ready, Mama?"_

_"Yep!" _

Val's wings began to flap as she ran along the plain and soon she lifted right off the ground and into the air. _"See me, Mama? Do you see me?"  
"Yes, I see you! Good job!" _Val circled around and landed again._ "You were great, kiddo_," Rue said as her hand entered the camera's view and ruffled Val's hair and ears. Val grinned at the camera.

Victor sat in the darkened room long after the reel of film had run out. Rue looked good with Val. He couldn't imagine her as a corpse. _#$%, but I missed a lot. _His cub was almost grown now, and its mother was dead. _Flower, ya shoulda told me._ But she had had no way to contact him. Wasn't her fault.

But there were questions still up in the air. It didn't seem likely that whoever had written the death certificate had screwed up enough to mix up a burial and a cremation like that. Victor smelled something suspicious, and he trusted his nose. _Time to do what I do best._

_

* * *

_

"You might want to rethink your answer," Creed said, smiling. He had his powerful hand around the neck of the frail that had been the funeral service licensee.

The man gagged and struggled for breath. Victor eased up a bit to allow him to talk. "I don't know! I don't know anything!"

"Nothing?" Victor raised his eyebrows, amused. "Everybody knows something. Think about it. A body comes in. The name is Rue Drake. She died in a car crash. What did you do? Cremate or bury?"

"I –I didn't do either! Ahh…" he gagged again. "Some guy came in, told me to sign a death certificate." He was trying to pull Creed's hand away from his throat, but Victor could have told him how futile that was.

"And?" Creed said, a growl in his voice.

"That's it! That's it!"

"You're lying to me, frail," he snarled. "I can smell it on you." He could; a sick, sticky smell of fear and deception clung to the man in the expensive suit. "So be smart, and tell the truth _before_ I break your neck."

"Ahh… he paid me a whole bunch of money, so I did it. I had to make up the stuff he didn't know. Later on the family wanted a funeral so I kept the casket closed. Gahhh…"

_Slimy *$&$#*^. He let them bury an empty casket._

"So you never actually saw such a person? You don't know if she died?"

"No!"

"And that's it?" Victor said dangerously.

"That's it! I swear it! Please… let me go!" The deception smell was gone, replaced by total and complete fear. Victor breathed it in deeply; the one emotion he had not felt in a very long time was something like a drug. Then he snapped the man's neck.

* * *

"Yes, what is it? I'm just about to leave for today," the dour man in a white coat said, snapping his briefcase lock.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask you," Victor said, filling the doorway. He had at least half a foot on this man, and a larger girth as well. Add in his intimidating look, black trench coat, and bone claws, and you got a very scary man.

"I don't have much time," the doctor said, not looking up.

"Then you'll have to make time," Victor said, closing and locking the office door behind him.

The man looked up just in time to see Creed grab his neck. He made a surprised sound like 'urk' and Victor chuckled. "Since you're a doctor, you know how fast you'll bleed to death if I pierce your jugular," he said, lengthening his claws so that they pressed into his skin. "So, you really shouldn't lie to me." The man in a white lab coat nodded, fear beginning to roll off him in waves. With his other hand, Victor fished out Rue's death certificate from his pocket and showed it to him. "You pronounced this woman dead on arrival at the hospital. Is that true?"

The doctor made another 'urk' noise. "N-no."

"Was she still alive?" Victor asked.

"No. She –she was never here at all."

_Now we're gettin' somewhere, _Victor said to himself, pocking the paper. "Why did you say she was dead, then?" he asked, fishing for information.

"A man came –paid me money. I had debts –" he gasped as Victor's hold tightened and one of his claws cut into his skin. A bead of blood rolled down the doctor's neck as Creed growled.

"Listen. You had better tell me everything you know about this man, or else…" he said dangerously, increasing the pressure.

Desperately gasping for air, the doctor nodded. The whole room now smelled like fear and blood. _A good combination, _Victor thought to himself. "Ah… he said all my debts would be taken care of. I only had to break the news to her daughter and sign the death certificate."

"Describe him," Victor said slowly.

"He was –tall. But not as tall as you. He had black hair, cut –short. …ahh… he wore a suit and had a badge of some sort. He seemed like government or some sort of private security… I don't –remember any more…" That was the truth.

"Thank you doctor. You've been very helpful." Then Creed tore his throat out.

_That's the good thing about wearing black_, Victor thought, walking out of the office and locking the door behind him. _It doesn't show bloodstains._ He knew one thing for sure: Rue Drake might not be as dead as everyone thought she was.


	14. Slow Torture

**14: Slow Torture**

_But you know you're made for more,  
so don't be afraid to move  
Your faith is all it takes,  
and you can walk on the water, too  
Britt Nicole- Walk on the Water_

Keys rattled in the lock yet again. _You've got to be kidding me!_ I thought frantically. I was just almost drowned yesterday!

"You know the terms, Val," Stryker said.

"I will _never_ show you my wings," I said, standing. "Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Only a little bit."

I felt so tired as I walked out of that room for the third time. Was this day nine? Or ten? I wasn't so tired that I couldn't swipe Stryker's hand off my shoulder.

"Don't touch me," I hissed.

Ah, the familiar lab. I was not comforted by the absence of sharp objects. I brushed past a soldier, and I looked up into his face. The merc with the mouth didn't have any smart comments today. As I stared into his face, his eyes slid away from mine. Good, he should be ashamed. No decent person would do this.

* * *

Victor pulled up to the gate of Three Mile Island. "Creed!" The guard said, stepping out of the guardhouse. "We didn't expect you back so soon."

"Yeah, well I'm back now, so let me through," Creed told him.

"I'm going to have to call the major to let him know…" he said, turning back to the guardhouse. He didn't hear Creed get out of his car.

"Now, why would you need to do that?" Victor asked him in a low voice. The man spun around to find the larger man right behind him. A clawed hand shot out and grabbed his neck. "Answer."

"Gahh… he didn't say… just said to call him… when you came back…ahh," the soldier said, trying to breathe.

_Stryker_ is_ up to something. My instincts were right._ Victor dropped the man and left his car sitting where it was. Leaping like a cat over the fence, he started toward the compound to find out just what Stryker had been doing.

* * *

I yelled until my throat was as dry as dust. They had me strapped to the table and some contraption held my eyelids open. Figures in dark, dark glasses stood all around me, staring at me. An overhead light was right above me, but this was no ordinary light. It was bright enough to make my eyes burn with pain, and so I screamed. My eyes were tearing up, but it didn't help at all. All I could see was that awful, awful yellow light.

It hadn't started out so bright. It was just really hard to look at, like the sun. Then someone had turned some kind of dial and the pain began. _What kind of freaking wattage does that freaking thing have?_ My brain screamed as I cried and moaned. _How much time has passed?_ It seemed like an eternity. _I wonder if my eyes will really fry…_

* * *

Victor's roar made everyone turn as he burst through the doors. He tactically determined his options. If he wanted to keep his job, he could not grab his CO, so he settled for the doctor that knew more about the technical side of the program than Stryker did.  
"Turn it OFF. **_Now_**_."_ He said in a deadly voice. The female doctor quickly reached for the switch and cut off the blinding light and removed the device holding his cub's eyes open. She gasped and squeezed her eyes tight shut. The woman doctor loosened the leather straps, a tinge of compassion in her eyes. The girl on the table curled up into a ball, coving her eyes and shaking silently.

"Victor. You're back early. Did you finish all your missions?" Stryker said from the other side of the room.

"Don't give me that #*$. I'm modifying our deal. She goes with me on missions."

"We can talk about this –" Stryker said, lifting his hands in a pacifying way.

"No, you can listen. Along with the adamantium, I get my cub. End of story. " Victor glared at the shorter man, feeling his claws lengthening as he spoke. "Do you have a problem with that, Major?" The question was dangerous.

Stryker was thinking fast. "No, Victor, of course not. I didn't know you cared anything about her."

"What's mine is mine, Major. Nobody else is going to #*$ with it."

* * *

_I better never get him this mad,_ I thought distantly to myself as I heard his roar. There was blessed darkness when I was able to shut my eyes. Cool hands began to touch my face. "No, no, stop!" I mumbled, trying to push them away.

"I need you to open your eyes for a minute, Val. Can you do that?"

I opened my eyes just a crack before light hit them. "Ahh!"

"It was only the ceiling light. I'm sorry." My ears twitched as I recognized the voice –the woman doctor. Cool hands began to wrap layers of gauze around my eyes. "I don't know the extent of damage to her eyes, and I'm not sure how her healing factor will affect it. The standard waiting time is three days. Unwrap the bandage then."

A rustle of cloth made my cat ears twitch again, absorbing the sound. "Well, kid," the low, familiar voice said, "You wanna leave this place?"

I sat up shakily on the table, blind to the world. Choosing between the father I wasn't sure I wanted to know and the torture chamber was a pretty easy choice. "Do you have food?"

There was silence from everyone, but I could smell anger rolling off Creed. "Sure, kid," he said in a controlled voice.

I tried to get off the table and almost fell from weakness. I flinched as big arms picked me up and held me close. "I'm taking a week hiatus," he called back at them. "Don't call me until then." He smelled nice, like wild things, and he was warm. I think I fell asleep.


	15. Travel Time

**15: Travel Time**

_You decide  
who will you run to?  
Wrong or right  
There is no reason  
For you to hide  
Only love can change your life  
You decide  
"You Decide" Fireflight_

Victor drove west toward Washington, wanting to put as many miles as he could between his cub and Stryker. *#% it, he should've gotten back sooner. Should've refused to leave. He glanced over at her, curled up in the passenger seat. She hadn't woken up yet, and that was fine with him. As long as she slept, he'd keep driving.

When she woke up, he figured he'd stop and feed her something. Her question had raised his hackles. They had been starving her; her weight loss and overall frail-like weakness attested to that. Victor's claws extended and wrapped themselves around the steering wheel. She needed to focus on getting better, so he'd keep his findings about her mother to himself.  
All he knew was that if Stryker had managed to weaken her healing factor so much that she was permanently blind, he'd go back and personally gut him.

* * *

I woke up because my head had bounced against something hard. I wondered why everything was so dark before I remembered that my eyes were wrapped with gauze. My fingers ran down what I was sitting on –leather, with stitches at the seams. The muffled noise sounded like cars whipping past. So I was in a car.

No…. _we_ were in a car. I could smell him, musk and danger and spice wrapped up in a deadly, clawed package.

"You awake, frail?"

My ears twitched at his voice. "I'm not a frail," I said softly. I didn't know what he meant by frail, if it was just someone who was weak or a human, but I wasn't either.

"You hungry, kid?"

His voice was low, my ears registered, and while it didn't sound growly, there was a certain thrum to it, though I wasn't going to call it a purr by any means.

"My name is Val. And yeah," I said, "I'm hungry."

Something clicked, and a repetitious tic-tic-tic started up. _Turn signal, _I realized. I lifted my hand to feel the bandages around my head. It was going to be tricky scratching my nose if it suddenly decided to itch. The car began to move to the right, and I fingered my seatbelt. This not-seeing thing was going to be tough. You couldn't stare out the window to entertain yourself.

"How long did I sleep?" I asked suddenly.

" 'Bout nine hours." There was silence after that until the car pulled over and parked. "Stay here." A door opened and shut, and his scent left. My stomach was going a mile a minute and I hope he hurried.

After a few minutes, my door opened, letting in cold air. I shivered.

"Here," Creed said, pushing something into my hands. He slammed my door as I inspected what he had given me. It was actually two some things: a water bottle and a hot cup of something that had a lid.

"What is this?" I asked, feeling for a cup holder on the middle console as he started the engine.

"Soup." The gearshift clicked into reverse and we backed up, and it clicked again and we turned going forward. I found the cup holder and stuck the cup of soup in it, unscrewing the water bottle lid. I'm pretty positive I downed like half the bottle in five seconds. My stomach sighed in relief as the water hit it, finally filling up for the first time in… nine days? Ten? Eleven? I didn't remember. I put the cap back on and picked up the soup, sipping it slowly so that it didn't burn my tongue. It tasted like tomato.

"Don't drink real fast, kid. Your stomach will swell and you'll get a devil of a stomachache."

"Val," I corrected, switching from soup to water again. I obeyed, sipping slowly.

"Uh huh," he said, clicking something else. When our speed didn't change, I guessed it was the cruise control. I made the water and soup last for a while, but finally I was full for the first time in ages. I curled up and went to sleep again.

* * *

Victor gave his cub an amused look when she corrected him. Normally, correction earned that person a glare and a growl, but not in Val's case. Her mother had been like that too. _D%$_ _you, Rue, you got under my skin. Very few people do that and remain alive. But I guess you may not be in the land of the living, either._

Once she fell asleep again, Victor began to plan. He'd head up to the cabin he had stashed away in the woods outside Seattle, then go check his post office box in the city. Roy had better have sent those papers or there would be hell to pay. Creed couldn't get this enigma off his mind that had to do with Rue Drake. _If she's alive somewhere, I'm getting her and taking her with me. Once mine, always mine. And the cub –Val –needs her. _He could see the obvious difference between the girl in front of him and the happy girl from the films and pictures in his trunk.

After driving for another long stint of hours (he didn't need to stop and take a break), Val woke up, shaking her dark blond hair out of her face.

"Uhh…" she said, touching the gauze on her face. "I need to use a restroom."

Victor barely restrained a growl. They were almost to Seattle. "Now?"

"Now!" she said, sitting up. He could tell from her pose, legs pressed together, that she was telling the truth.

He let the growl come, turning off at the exit sign. "You're going to have to hold it for five minutes."

* * *

You know, when you don't use the restroom for a long time, you _really have to go. _My bladder announced this rather suddenly, waking me up.

Those five minutes seemed really, really long as I waited for the brake. It came, and the engine cut off. I unbuckled my seatbelt and found the door handle, almost falling out the door in my hurry.

"Hold on," he said, grabbing my arm. His claws poked me. "This way," he said, leading me.

We went through doors of some kind, and entered a warm space that smelled like food and cigarettes: _a gas station_, I thought. He led me around a corner and I reached out and touched a door. "Here. I'll wait outside," he said, before I could swallow my pride, open my mouth, and ask him to stay close.

Pushing open the door, I didn't bother with the light switch because what good would it do me anyway? Sticking my hands out in front of me, I walked forward until my foot connected with the toilet. I located the toilet paper, used it and flushed. I ran my hand along the wall until I felt the sink. Washing my hands was pretty easy. Finding the paper towels before I touched something unsanitary wasn't, but I managed. I kind of ran into the door, but I got out of the bathroom all right.


	16. Prove It

**16: Prove it  
**

_"Anything you can do,  
I can do better,  
I can do anything better than you."  
"No you can't."  
"Yes I can!"  
'Anything You Dan Do' ~~Annie Get Your Gun_

"I'm good," I said after exiting, and promptly ran into him. "Umph." My nose was squashed, but I still smelled him. His trench coat was softer than I had been expecting.

He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me away, gentler than I had been expecting. _Is there a lot I don't know about this man?_

"Then let's go." He led me out and opened my car door for me. I slid in and closed the door. My ears swiveled around as his door opened and closed, his scent entering the car once again. He put the car into gear and pulled out of what I guessed was a parking lot.

"Where are we going?" I asked, crossing my arms. The cold air made me shiver.

"Seattle. Around there, anyway," he said, after a while. "I've got a place in the mountains."

"The Cascade Range?" I asked, trying to picture a map in my head.

"Yeah," he said, sounding surprised.

"Why?"

"You need to get better, and that's the safest place I know."

I didn't know what to make of this. He wanted to keep me safe? Huh, he had a funny way of showing it. _Why does he even care? I don't even know what to _call _him._ "What's so safe about it?"

"I'm the only one who knows where it is." His voice sounded amused. I shifted in my seat; my rear was getting tired of being in this position and there was a crick in my neck. "We passed the Washington border a while ago; it won't be much longer now," he told me.

* * *

I was dozing against the window when we turned off the relatively smooth road onto a very bumpy road. Gravel, perhaps, or dirt? Very rough was all I could deduce. It certainly shook me awake. I was hungry again, and my stomach complained loudly.

"We're almost there," he said, and gears ground.

"This place may be safe, but I don't know about the roads," I muttered, hanging onto my seat. A particularly violent bump make my head hit the roof, his too, by the sound of his growl.

"You may be right," he mumbled, and we went around a turn. _Did he just agree with me?_ He braked and the engine died. "We're here." I carefully opened my door and stuck my foot out of the car. Something crunched under my shoe; leaves, probably. I got out all the way and shut the door, leaving my hand on the car, the last sense of direction I had besides down. "C'mon," he said as my ears swiveled around to pick up his movements and voice. He took hold of my arm, not pulling me, but not really leading me either, and we walked a little ways until my foot hit the bottom of a step. His arm stopped me from falling. "Watch it," he told me.

"Little late for that," I mumbled, feeling for a non-existent railing.

"It's only three steps, kid." As I walked up them, and over a porch that creaked, I kept thinking, _Val, Val, Val! It's my name, okay? Not 'kid'!_ He pushed open a door and impatiently yanked me inside. I could tell when his scent left to go back outside. This whole place carried a hint of feral wildness in its smell. My ears stretched, straining to hear something in the silence. My fingers reached around the doorframe and traveled along the wall, over a cold pane of glass. My feet followed hesitantly as my fingers found the wood grain again and ran into a piece of furniture jutting out against the wall. Using my other hand, I brushed the front and touched leather and cloth; my nose smelled paper and dust. I sneezed. Books.

Books were things I was familiar with. I reached into what must have been a bookcase and pulled out a mediumish sized book, holding it to my nose and taking a big whiff. Running my fingers over the front cover, I tried to make out what the title was, but it wasn't impressed deep enough in the leather.

The door opened again; I could tell because the hinges creaked. Cold air wound its way around my ankles, raising goose bumps, and his scent filled my nose. No one else I had ever met had that strong of a musk about them. Well, I couldn't smell myself, but I doubted I did. I took another sniff of the book, enjoying the familiarity of paper, glue, and oldness in such an unfamiliar place.

"What is this book?" I asked, holding it close.

He set something heavy down, judging from the thud. The book came out of my hands. "_The Prince,_ by Niccoló Machiavelli."

"In English?"

"I don't read Italian," he said, placing the book back in my hands. "Why?" It sounded like he took off his overcoat.

"We had to read bits of it last year in school. 'It is much safer to be feared than loved'…" I drifted off. It seemed rather appropriate for a Sabretooth. Not that I wanted to love him or anything. I didn't need him for a father. I felt for the space in between the books and slid it back into its slot. "I need to use the restroom again."

I had the feeling he was rolling his eyes at me. "This way," he said, pulling me along, me stumbling after him. We turned and my outstretched hand hit a wall; he stopped. "Here," he said, pulling open another door. I felt for the doorknob, and pulled it closed after me.

_This not being able to see thing is annoying, _I thought as my foot hit something. Turned out, it was the tub, a tub that was set off the ground. I ran my hand down the side and came across something bumpy. _A tub with lion claws?_ I thought as I turned and promptly hit the commode. Ouch. If I didn't have a healing factor, I'd have bruises. After flushing, I found the counter and the sink, washed my hands, and located a fluffy towel hanging up on the opposite wall. All the while, I kept thinking that there was a definite scent of dust, as if he hadn't been back here in months, or maybe a year.

I opened the door and could tell he had left, not waiting for me. "Where do I go?" I called out, feeling pangs of desperation coming on.

"Figure it out for yourself," he called back, and I tried to pinpoint where.

"I can't see," I said, panic setting in. The space in front of me was totally unknown, full of danger and strangeness, and I was scared.

"Is that going to stop you?" he called back unsympathetically. "You've got all the tools you need to get to where you need to go. So do it, kid."

I heard the unspoken comment: _weak, useless, and pathetic. _

_I am not!_ I thought angrily. _I'll show you!_ I licked my lips and put my best foot forward. All I had to do was repeat my steps, right? I started out, keeping one hand on the wall. Three steps and my hand ran out of wall. I turned, and walked forward hesitantly, keeping my hands in front of me. My palm slapped wood after six steps.

"That's great, kid. If you were looking for the bookcase," he said, laughing low.

I hissed, and followed the sound of his voice. I tried to pinpoint his exact smell, instead of the scent he left everywhere around the place. I bumped into a table and winced.

"You forgot to listen to the echoes," he said, his voice coming from right beside me. "You would have heard the sound of your footsteps hit the table and bounce back."

"I don't have radar," I mumbled. "How can I do that?"

"What do you think those big ears are for?" he rumbled, and a claw tweaked my right one.

I snarled, and my ears lay flat.

"Face it kid, you don't know anything."

"I do so!" I protested. "I'm a sophomore. First quartile."

"You know human things. You don't know anything about being a feral mutant."

"I know enough," I growled, trying to ignore the fact that unless he moved somewhere else, I was going to be stuck at this table forever because I had no bearings.

"You've got another day before the bandages come off. You don't need your eyes." His footsteps moved away and a second later something flew toward me, hitting me in the chest, and I barely kept from dropping it.

"Ow! What was that for?" I said, examining the object. It was small and round, with stitching around the edges.

"What're you holding?" he said, ignoring my question.

I smelled the leather. "A baseball."

"Yep. Now why didn't you snatch it out of the air?"

"I couldn't see it!" I said.

"Don't need to see it. You heard me walk away, and if you had listened hard enough, you would have heard me pick it up and throw it." He plucked the ball out of my grasp.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I said, vexed.

"Like this." The ball whizzed through the air and hit me again, harder this time, in the arm. I caught it before it fell to the ground.

"I can't do this!" I yelped.

"Maybe you're just a frail," he said harshly, taking the ball from me again.

"I am not a frail!"

"Prove it," he told me.

_I will! _I stretched my ears as far as they would go, taking in every sound I heard. I readied my hands to catch the ball and waited.

It was like it happened in slow motion, although I knew it only took two seconds. I smelled his scent disperse and fabric rustle as he pulled his arm back and released the ball. I heard the whoosh as the ball shoved the air out of its path, and I measured the path. Lifting my arms, I snatched the ball out of the air. I took five steps forward, ran my free hand down his arm and grabbed his large, clawed hand. Lifting it, I pressed the baseball into his palm. "Not. A. Frail."

"You've still got a lot to learn before you prove it, kid."

I lifted my chin stubbornly. "I can do it."

"We'll see," he said.


	17. Dinner With Dad

**An: Many apologies for the long wait. Tuesday you will have another update, promise. I don't have computer access 'til then :) You all rock my socks!**

**17: Dinner with Dad**

_"I wish that I could just be brave_  
_I must become a lion-hearted girl_  
_Ready for a Fight_  
_Before I make the final sacrifice"  
Florence + The Machine ~Rabbit Heart (Raise it up)_

"I'm hungry," she said, after a few more rounds with the baseball.

"Fine," Victor said. He walked to the kitchen and checked the pantry. He'd buy groceries in Seattle; right now the cub would have to settle for more canned soup. She was following him slowly, feeling for objects in her way, and at least attempting to listen with those oversized ears of hers like he'd told her. He snorted. She still wasn't a good feral at all. _Why should I be surprised? The only teacher she ever had was Rue, and she was a d*% herbivore. Natur'ly she wouldn't know how to fight with her instincts. But I'll train 'er. She's got promise._ Victor chuckled._ If she ever figures out that I'm not always right by whatever she needs_. He backed up a couple steps to the stove and opened the soup cans with his claws. "What do you smell?" Creed asked Val, who had followed him again.

The cub sniffed, tilting her head to the side. "Soup?" she asked finally.

"What kind?"

"I don't know!"

"Think about it," he said, pouring the contents into a pot and adding water. He turned on the heat and stirred.

After a minute or two, she said, "Meat. Cheese. Some kind of vegetable."

"Pretty close," he said, going to a cupboard and pulling out glasses. She followed him again.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" she asked.

"I will if you stop following me," he growled, walking to the refrigerator. She stayed where she was, looking lost in the middle of the kitchen. "That's better. Chunky chicken broccoli cheese." He grabbed a jug of water and said, "The table's over here, kid." He grinned at the way her mouth twisted when he called her kid. She stuck her hands out in front of her and walked toward him, hitting the table with her midsection. "Don't stick your hands out straight; you look like Frankenstein's monster. The table isn't hanging from the ceiling."

"I know that," she snapped, finding a chair and sitting down.

"Then why didn'tcha do it before I told you?" Victor said, turning down the heat on the soup, which was beginning to bubble.

"Didn't think about it," she mumbled.

"Told ya you need to learn," he said, plunking down a bowl of soup and a glass in front of her.

She made a face and muttered something. Quick as a flash, his hand was on her head, claws digging into her scalp, resistant to her efforts to move his hand. "Stop it!" she said, trying to twist away. Victor could smell the flecks of blood that came to the surface as his claws broke her skin.

"Listen, kid," he growled. "You might want to remember that besides rescuing your sorry butt from Stryker, I'm also your father, so I can discipline you any way I want. Got it?"

"You aren't my father," she shot back. "You just contributed to my DNA."

"Same thing, kid. And the fact that you couldn't block me proves that you need to learn somethin'. So. You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," she mumbled. "Now let go."

"Why?"

"It hurts!"

"You'll heal." But he let go anyway, and Victor could smell the blood that didn't stick to his claws being pulled back into her body, the skin sewing itself back together. "That's another thing you need to work on," he said, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. "Pain. Got to learn to ignore it."

"I don't have a high tolerance to pain," she said, feeling for the spoon beside her bowl.

"So what? Your body will heal itself. And you can't die." He came back to the table and sat in another chair.

Her spoon froze in midair. "You don't know that," she whispered softly, painfully. "My healing factor isn't nearly as good as yours."

Victor frowned. Something was eating at her, besides his provoking her. No teenager ever worried about dying, in his experience, even the frail human ones. "This has something to do with Stryker, doesn't it?" he growled in a low voice.

She shoved her dark gold hair off her shoulder and stirred her soup, saying nothing.

"Valiant." She turned toward him, her ears twitching at the sound of his voice. Her whole name felt strange in his mouth, but he knew it would get her attention. "I want an answer," he said threateningly.

She let the spoon rest on the side of her bowl. "They tossed me into a tank," she said in a taught voice. "Full of water. Put a screen on it so I couldn't reach the surface. I thought I was gonna die."

Victor's frown deepened, creasing the skin on his forehead. "But you didn't."

She swallowed. " 'Cause somebody had an argument with Stryker and told Skippy to pull me out."

"Who?"

"Wade."

"No, who had the argument?" Victor asked. He suppressed the urge to laugh at Wilson's nickname. Now wasn't the time.

"Military guy. Munson, I think."

"General Munson," Victor finished.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"He's funding Stryker." Victor fumed silently at Stryker, who would need to learn that no one messed with something that belonged to Victor Creed. He could smell salt, and it wasn't coming from the soup. She was crying, but it didn't show because the gauze soaked up the tears. However, their scent remained. She picked up her spoon again and began to eat, feeling for the water jug and filling her glass. She used her index finger on the inside of the glass to measure how much she should pour without spilling. _She's a smart cub,_ Victor thought, doing the same. _A good one. And she's brave. Somethin' I never was._

Being brave required that you felt fear and acted in the face of it. It was a bit hard to act in the face of something you didn't feel.

* * *

"You can have this room," Victor said, opening a small guest room door. He'd bought this cabin after the Second World War, wanting a permanent space to call his own, even if he didn't call it his home. Jimmy had never been here because Victor hadn't ever stayed here for long periods of time until after the runt had turned traitor. Creed had installed a generator so that power lines didn't have to be strung from the nearest town. Plumbing and heat were also recent additions. He liked it because it was the one place where he could let his guard down.

It was a little comical to watch Val touch the sheets and comforter, a look of delight on her face. _Well, she would, wouldn't she? Stryker doesn't exactly go for comfort in his prison,_ the small voice in Victor's head said. Victor didn't like the voice; it always told him that what he was doing was wrong.

"Thanks," she said, a little reluctantly. "How do I get to the bathroom from here?"

"Walk out the door, turn left, and walk. It's the first door you come to on the left."

"Okay."

"Tomorrow we're going to Seattle."

"Why Seattle?"

"I have to get something there. And you need clothes and stuff."

She fingered the maroon uniform. "Yeah," she agreed, muttering, "At least it wasn't burnt orange."

He turned off the light she didn't need anyway, and left.

"G'night," she said as he shut the door.

Victor paused with the handle in his claws. "… 'Night, kid," he finally said, closing the door.


	18. Hello, Seattle

**AN: 2 chapters updating. Hope you like!**

**18: Hello, Seattle**

_Hello Seattle, I am a mountaineer_  
_In the hills and highlands_  
_I fall asleep in hospital parking lots _**  
**_Owl City -"Hello, Seattle"_**  
**

I fell asleep right away, not caring if I walked in my sleep. Pillows, sheets, comforters, and being warm for the first time in a long time contributed to a deep sleep. I was curled into a ball when a fist knocked on my door. Loudly.

I groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers over my head. "It's too early!" I yelled.

"It's nine o'clock, kid. And since you won't be getting breakfast 'til we get to Seattle, I suggest you get your butt out of bed."

I sat up, disoriented from not being able to see. I had slept in my clothes, so that was good. I felt around on the floor for shoes and found them. In went my socked feet. I stood and ran a hand through tangles and snarls in my hair. "I'm up," I said, opening my door. "I have to go, though." I turned left and followed the wall until I found the bathroom door.

Once I had used the commode and tried to brush my teeth with my finger, I walked out, having given up on my hair. I couldn't see to do anything, and I did what little finger combing I could. "Okay."

"Let's go," he said, throwing something cloth at me. I caught it awkwardly and figured out it was a coat. Though it was huge on me, I wore it anyway, knowing it would keep out the chill. His scent enveloped me as I put the jacket on; obviously it was his.

"You're gonna have to work on that s'more, kid."

"I just woke up," I said, walking toward his voice.

"Doesn't matter." He took hold of my arm and led me out the door. Remembering the steps this time around, I navigated them with ease and got in the passenger's side of the car. Maybe I could sleep on the way up.

* * *

I must have slept, because I didn't remember anything after the horribly bumpy road. I sat up straight and asked, "What time is it?" My stomach was growling.

"Ten thirty."

I sighed and curled up in the recesses of the huge coat, which was very warm. "Where are we?"

"We're coming up on Seattle. You can see the buildings in the distance." Then he seemed to realize what he had said.

_This is a rather awkward silence_. "No, actually, I can't," I finally said. "When can I get these bandages off?"

"Soon."

"How soon is 'soon'? It's been three days," I said, hearing a plea in my voice.

"Don't whine, kid."

"Val," I said through clenched teeth.

"Don't correct me either, kid."

I growled, and he laughed. "I want them off. If it's been three days and they still aren't healed, my healing factor is officially shot to h-e-double toothpicks and it won't matter because I'll be –blind."

* * *

Victor kept his eyes on the road, but he knew she had a point. There was no use putting off the inevitable. "We'll get 'em off when we get in the city."

She seemed content with that, and settled back in her seat. "What's Seattle like?"

"Cold and rainy."

"Besides that."

He thought about it. "There's the space needle."

"What's that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You've never heard of it?"

"If I have I don't remember."

"It's a big tall tower that was built for the world's fair. It's got observation platforms, a restaurant, gift shops, things like that."

"What does it look like?"

He smirked. "A needle with a plate on top of it."

"Oh." She frowned, wanting more detail. But Victor didn't have any more to give her. He didn't care about tourist attractions and had never been up on the needle. _It woulda given Jimmy the willies,_ he thought cheerfully to himself. He pulled off the highway and into a parking lot of an IHOP and cut the engine.

"Why did we stop?" she asked, sitting up.

"We're here," he said, getting out of his side of the car and walking over to her door. Opening it, he said, "Don'tcha want those bandages off?"

"Well…yeah but…"

"Then what are you waiting for, frail?" He smiled as she snarled at him. She was the sort of person who would do anything if properly goaded. Come to think of it, he was too. She started feeling for the ends of the gauze. "Here, kid. Lemme do it," Victor said, extending a claw and slicing through the white material. Her fingers pulled it away from her face, unwrapping herself like a mummy. She balled up all the material in her hands, but her eyes stayed shut. "Well?" He said impatiently as hunger gnawed his stomach.

She took a deep breath ad slowly opened her eyes, squinting in the light. Victor held up his hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

She thought about it. "Three, right?" Victor smiled. "They work!" she exclaimed, gradually opening her eyes wider. When her pupils caught the light, Victor stared at the strange sight, his brow coming down into a frown.

"What?" she asked, able to see his face for the first time in three days.

"Tell ya inside, kid." He walked to the door of the restaurant and she followed him.

* * *

I felt incredibly dizzy when light struck my retinas for the first time in days, but it passed quickly. I took in the restaurant, the black car, and him. He looked the same, big, with his dark eyes and long mutton-chop sideburns, but his expression was guarded, wary. "What? What's wrong?" I asked, standing up and shutting the car door.

"Tell ya inside kid," he repeated in the same low voice, and walked into the restaurant. I followed, finally able to see the step before the door and see the people that the voices and scents were attached to.

"We're inside. What's going on?" I said cautiously.

"I'll get us a booth. Go look in a mirror," he said, giving me a dark-eyed stare. My stomach dipped and I slipped into the bathroom. I walked quickly to the mirror and found immediately what was different. Instead of round pupils, mine were now oval. _Like a cat's,_ I thought distantly. My eye color had changed from a nondescript hazel to a bright green.

I quickly checked for people in the stalls, but I was the only one in the bathroom. I hit the light switch, and darkness descended except for the tiny nightlight plugged into the wall. As I leaned toward the mirror, my pupils widened to take in every bit of light there was, and when the nightlight's glow hit them, my eyes gleamed with a ghostly green light.

Cat's eyes. I had cat's eyes.

"Goodness, why is it so dark in here?" A woman asked, pushing open the bathroom door.

"Sorry ma'am, I accidentally hit the light switch," I said, flicking the lights back on and slipping out past her. I leaned against the wall and fingered the ears I had no way to hide. Was there no end to my mutation?


	19. I once was Blind

**19: I once was blind**

_'Amazing Grace,  
how sweet the sound  
that saved a wretch like me'_**  
**

I slunk back around the corner, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone while plastering my ears to the sides of my head. I spotted him sitting in a booth in the corner of the restaurant; I had a clear path toward it. I made a beeline for it, diving in on the opposite side like a runner sliding into home.

He raised his eyebrows at me over the menu he held in his claws. "Are they starting to electrocute the toilet seats now?"

"Ha," I said, ducking my head down as a waitress passed our table. "Funny." _If I kept my ears flattened against my skull and brushed my hair over them, would anyone notice? _I tried to casually brush my hair over my ears as I picked up a menu. Didn't really work; apparently, casual acts aren't very easy when they're important enough not to be casual. If that makes sense. My stomach rumbled, telling me to look at the menu and hurry up about it.

"Ready to order?" A rather bored voice inquired. I looked up to meet the eyes of a typical college waitress.

"Yes," he said, looking up at her and smiling with his fangs. I think she and I both stared, she with fear and I with disbelief. I thought the point was to _blend in._ We both ordered and she scuttled off to the kitchen holding our menus, one of which had some claw holes in the corners.

"Why'd you do that?" I asked him when she was out of earshot.

"They bring your order faster," he said nonchalantly.

Well. When you thought about it that way… After a moment of silence, I demanded, "What happened to my eyes?"

"Why'dya think I know, kid?" he asked.

"I have your danged mutation!" I hissed.

His eyes narrowed at me, and he said, "Only half."

"My mother wasn't a feral."

"Only partly true. She was a shape shifter, but only into specific animals. She's a kind of feral in her own right."

"You mean she was," I said, my tone hard.

"Yeah," he said, turning his attention to the waitress scurrying back with coffee and orange juice for me.

I didn't really know what to make of his abrupt turn off answer. Did he not care about my mother? Maybe it would be easier to think he had never cared, but somehow…I wanted him to feel something for her. For me. A little bit. Not that I wanted a mercenary killer for a father, but… since I couldn't pick and choose… _Val, you're an idiot. He probably doesn't care._

Then why did he come back for me?

My mind had no answer.

They brought our food pretty quickly, with two pancakes and a fruit bowl for me, and a whole mound of food for him. At a glance: scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, something that looked suspiciously like a T-bone steak, and a stack of pancakes. I quickly shifted my gaze before my appetite disappeared. "How on earth do you eat all that?"

"I burn lots of calories, kid." He smirked when I inwardly seethed at the nickname.

We eat our meal in silence, but I was surprised again –if you didn't watch closely, you'd think the food just disappeared from his plate. He was a fast eater, but a clean eater, like a cat. We finished about the same time. I downed the rest of my orange juice and he paid the bill and we left. When I asked him why, he just said, "I don't stick around in one place for very often, kid." That made sense too.

* * *

"You're kidding," I said, staring at the wad of money in my hand.

"No, I'm not."

I stared at him from where I stood on the curb. "You're seriously telling me I can spend all this?"

He frowned at me through the window of the car. "You need clothes, kid. And it's not like I'm going shopping with you. I've got my own #*$& errands to run." Errands I didn't really want to know about. We were in front of a mall in Seattle, and I had just been given a fist full of bills, more money than I'd ever seen in one place at a time.

"Are you sure?" I finally asked. It was a lot of money.

He growled, irritated. "If I wasn't sure, do ya think I'd give it to ya? How much time do you need?"

"Two hours?" I guessed.

"Two hours," he affirmed, and pulled away from the curb.

I watched his car pull away and went back to staring at the money in my hand. Mom and I could have lived on this money for at least a month, if not more. Mom had pinched pennies like nobody's business. _If Mom had had this money when I was little, she wouldn't have had to live on cereal and peanut butter sandwiches for nearly so long, _I thought, a little sliver of jealousy entering my heart. And here _he _had money to burn. _But the money was gotten dishonestly. From murders. From kills._

I shoved the thought away, put the bills in my pocket and pushed open the mall doors.

* * *

The sabertooth prowled down the post office halls to his box, which he opened with a key from his breast pocket. Opening up the PO box, he quickly sifted through the contents. Most of it was junk; the thing he was looking for was right on top. Pulling out the large manila envelope, he slit it open with his claws. Pouring some of the papers into his hands, Victor sifted through them. Some of them were just records, from taxes to bills to property; then there were police reports, pictures of an accident scene, and documents that looked suspiciously like the kind Stryker kept. Documents on mutants. Everything was very helpfully highlighted.

Victor smiled. "Good job, Ray." He put the contents back in the envelope and stuck that in his black overcoat. The rest of his mail he threw in the trash can outside the Seattle post office door. Looking at his watch, he had just enough time to go grocery shopping and pick up the cub.

* * *

My shopping list:

1 pair of sweatpants (grey)  
3 pairs of jeans (dark blue)  
4 long sleeved shirts (green, black, blue, red)  
1 hooded sweatshirt (dark grey)  
3 t-shirts for sleeping and hotter weather (camo, white, and grey)  
1 pair of black converse sneakers  
4 pairs of socks (white)  
An adequate number of undergarments (white)  
A red baseball cap that proclaimed "rebel"  
Deodorant  
Toothpaste (mint) and toothbrush (blue)  
Hairbrush  
Shampoo and Conditioner (raspberry)  
1 pack of disposable razors

A kind lady at one of the department stores had let me cut the tags off some of the clothes so I could wear them after I paid for them. I felt so much better, almost normal, in fact. And I hadn't even used half the money. I guess being cheap was something deeply ingrained in me. I also had 15 minutes until I was picked up again. I stood in the middle of the mall, feeling like a regular girl for the first time in a long time, in jeans, sneakers, hoodie, and his huge jacket. I wore my baseball cap with the hood of my sweatshirt pulled over it, covering my ears. I had no clue if Seattle was mutant-friendly, so I wasn't taking any chances. And I could get away with it without being stared at because it was so cold.

He had soap, right? I didn't have to buy that. What else did I need? I let the crowd mill around me and pass me by as I stood in the middle of the mall. What about a duffel or something, to carry this stuff in instead of shopping bags? I bought a small, cheap duffel bag in a sports supplies store and threw the paper and plastic shopping bags away. I began to make my way back to the entrance where he would pick me up –I still couldn't figure out what to call him. 'Dad' was a definite no, and 'Mr. Creed' sounded too respectful and just plain awkward. 'Sabertooth' sounded ridiculous and 'Victor' too familiar. I growled under my breath and figured since he didn't call me by my name, I didn't have to call him by his name.

I sighed as I passed a bookstore. I really didn't need any books; he had a bookshelf full of books for me to read, right? But still… I gave into temptation and went in. All the tension left my body as I entered my element. Having pretty much no friends all my life, I counted on books for entertainment and friendship. Passing shelves full of mysteries, romance, and science fiction, I entered the children's literature section. I ran my hand down the spines of Louisa May Alcott's books: _Little Woman, Eight Cousins_, and _Rose in Bloom_. Skimming down the shelves, I read the titles until I reached the 'M's. My eyes landed on _The Princess and the Goblin _and _The Princess and Curdie,_ both by George MacDonald. I kind of squealed. They were on my top ten favorite book list from childhood. I picked them both up and walked out of the section. If I stayed around longer, I might buy out the bookstore. Lord knows I had enough money to do it with.

Exiting the bookstore with my new purchase in my duffel bag, I glanced at the clock in the center of the mall. I had five more minutes.


	20. But now I see

**AN: so I lied. 3 chap update. :) love y'all!**

**20: But now I see**

_'I once was lost_  
_but now I'm found_  
_was blind,_  
_but now I see'_

I waited in the cold wind as his black car pulled up to the curb, right on time. I tossed my duffle in the back seat and got in the front, shutting the door. As he drove away from the mall, I pulled my hood down and fished the rest of his money out of the pocket of his (now my) jacket. "Here," I said, holding it out.

His eyes glanced at me, but they returned to staring at the road. "Keep it."

"I don't want it." I stuffed it in the cup holder and crossed my arms, staring straight ahead.

* * *

Her eyes unnerved him. And not many things could unnerve Victor Creed. That, coupled with the fact that her body language blatantly said _keep away from me,_ made him sure that she was ready. "You need training," he said suddenly.

"No I don't," was her immediate answer.

"Yes you do, kid."

"I don't need to know how to kill people."  
His brown eyes glanced over at her again. Her eyes were fixed on the road, with her baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. The letters 'rebel' were written on it, an indicator to her behavior, and her jaw was set. _She definitely inherited somethin' from me besides my mutation, _Victor thought to himself. _Pigheadedness._ "I'm not talking about killing. I'm talking about fighting. You can't fight worth *$#."

Her green eyes met his with a glare. "That's not true! And don't cuss at me."

"I'll cuss at you if I want to, kid. And you can't fight."

"So what?"

"I'm going to train you. That stuff catching the baseball? That's just the beginning." She snarled at him. He growled back. "Don't talk back to me, kid. You need to learn."

"Oh, and you're going to teach me?" she said sarcastically.

"That's what I said, kid. And don't give me any #*$ about it."

"Ha," she said, putting her feet up on the dashboard. He knocked them down with a clawed hand. She sat up and glared, about to open her mouth. He grabbed her arm without his eyes leaving the road.

"Y'know, kid, you really need to learn respect," he said, slowly lengthening his claws so that they poked into her arm. "You might get hurt."

"Let go of my arm," she said through gritted teeth. "I just bought these clothes."

He laughed and retracted his claws, putting both hands back on the steering wheel. "It'll be fun, kid. You'll get to beat me up." He chuckled as her ears pricked. "Or try to."

"I can take you."

"I doubt it, kid."

* * *

I watched avidly as he drove up the bumpy road. This time around, I could take in the scenery. It was very pretty up here in the mountains. We went around a curve and emerged in a small clearing. Killing the engine, he got out of the car and opened the trunk, beginning to take packages out. I got out more slowly, staring at the wooden cabin. It was rather large to be called a cabin, but it wasn't a house per say. I pulled the duffle bag out of the back seat and followed him up the steps –I could see them this time –and into the cabin. I stopped just inside the doorway. He had more taste than I had given him credit for. There was a nondescript couch against one wall, the bookshelf I had found earlier, a few tables and easy chairs. It had a rustic feel to it; I was a little disappointed that there wasn't a rack of antlers on the wall. I stepped into the hallway, stuck my head into the bathroom (gold wallpaper and YES they actually were lion claws on the tub), and continued on to my room. The walls were a bluish color, and the bedspread was blue too. There was a dresser across from the bed, something I hadn't known before. I thought about unpacking my duffle and putting my new clothes away. But that felt like admitting that I would be staying here a while. And I didn't want to do that. I settled for leaving it on the bed.

Walking back into the living room, I noticed some cardboard boxes in the corner, as well as a projector. My face went hot and cold, as if the blood was leaving it. Feeling disconnected from reality, I walked over to them and touched them. Yes, they were real.

"You went back," I said.

"Yep," he agreed, still putting groceries away.

"Why." It wasn't really a question.

"Wanted to settle some things."

I opened a box and pulled out a photo album. I sat where I was, on the hard wood floor and opened it. There I was, only a few hours hold, with Mom. Her face stared out at me from the picture, reminding me of the past. I flipped past that section of my life. Now, here I was four years old, with oversized ears and a happy grin, with her arms around me. When did I lose the smile, the laughter?

Stupid question. I knew when I lost it. I lost it when she died.

My eyes were starting to burn, and I wasn't sure if it was from the dust or the past. My throat was tight, and I wanted to put the album back in the box, but my fingers wouldn't let it go. I bit my lip, and I could feel the skin part and the tang of coppery blood in my mouth. _It wasn't supposed to be like this. She's supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to go._

* * *

He could smell the blood. He pulled his overcoat off and threw it over a chair. "Kid," he said, walking toward her. She didn't move. "Kid," he said again. Crouching down, he gripped her chin and tilted her face toward him.

"I bit my lip," she said, swallowing, her gaze sliding away from his.

He nodded slowly. "Okay. But only frails let their pain rule them."

Her eyes darkened, the oval pupils thinning slightly. "I'm not a frail."

"Didn't say you were." He let go of her chin. "Just giving you a warning."


	21. Training

**21: Training**

_"You were made to rock  
so stand up tall  
Go rock the world and prove them wrong"  
Superchic[k] ~~Rock What You Got  
_

A fist hit my door, and I moaned. "What?"

"Training starts early. Get up." His dangerous voice floated through the doorway.

I cracked an eye open and looked at the bedside clock. It read 5 AM. "You have got to be kidding me," I mumbled. "It's 5 o'clock!" I said, louder.

"I know what time it is, kid. You have ten minutes before I come in and get you. And that's actually kinda generous."

I moaned and threw the covers off me. Pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I grabbed my sweatshirt and walked to the restroom, where I used the toilet, brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tried to become cognizant. "I'm up," I said, walking out. "I'm not awake, but I'm up. Can I eat?" I pulled on socks and sneakers as I spoke

"No." He was sipping a large mug of coffee. So that was his secret.

"Why?"

He yawned hugely, showing off gleaming white fangs. "It's bad to train on a full stomach. Gives you cramps."

"I'll heal."

"But it hurts like *#$ til you do." He grabbed his coat and walked out the door. I followed, pulling my sweatshirt over my head. The cold air hit my face like a slap, waking me up fully.

"So what are we doing?"

He didn't answer. I surmised that he wasn't a morning person. _We have more parallels than I'd like._

To sum up the first day of my 'training': he worked on my reflexes and senses. I caught baseballs with my eyes closed, dodged sneak attacks, etc. It was rather boring, until I looked away for a minute, and he was just gone. Opening up my ears and eyes as far as they would go, I scanned the area for any sign of him. Nada. Slowly, softly, I backed up until I had an oak to my back. That was the first thing he had told me: when surrounded by enemies, get your back to a wall. That way no one can attack you from behind. They could also box you in and take you down, but he said that I would just have to be smarter than that.

I heard him about two seconds before he hit me. I went headfirst into a snow bank with an open mouth, meaning I got a mouthful of snow. Sputtering, I kicked out and struck him, rolling away as best as I was able in snow. My wings sprouted and they wrapped themselves around me for protection and defense.

"Good job," he said, standing. "You can eat now."

"How did you do that?" I asked, brushing the snow off of me.

"Very few people look up for an enemy. Remember that."

* * *

For three more days we did this. If I had been human, I would have been black and blue with bruises everywhere. Maybe even broken bones. He took no mercy on me because I was young, a girl, or his kid. Part of me was angry. The other part respected him for it.

I learned how to fight with hands, legs, and wings. I learned to protect my back even more than usual, so no one could cut my wings if I had them out. I learned how to follow a trail. I learned how to not leave a trail. He gave me a hunting knife and taught me how to use it, because 'you don't have any claws, kid.'

I soon figured out how he consumed so much food. When your body is constantly healing itself, it needs fuel. So he ate A LOT. And so did I. Tons of carbs. Tons of protein. Tons of total junk food. I still marveled that he was so fastidious when he ate, tucking the food away, but not like an animal; like a cleanly, large, hunter-cat that used its claws sometimes to eat. I could see similarities between my parents now; they both had this thing about table manners. He would only play with his food when he hunted it, and Mom would always tell me to not shove such large bites in my mouth.

On the fourth day, he got a phone call. I hadn't even known he had a phone. But I could have filled all the books on his bookshelf with the things I didn't know about him. I wisely retreated to the room that I stayed in, burying my nose in _The Princess and Curdie_; his eyes had gone dark and his voice was dangerous and low as he spoke into the phone. He stayed on the line probably about ten minutes before snarling and slamming the receiver down with enough force to break it if he had really wanted to.  
He banged on my door. "We're leaving tomorrow. Be packed."

I opened the door, sticking my finger in my book to hold the page. "Where are we going?" I asked; trying to avoid the silent _why are we going_, hoping I wasn't right.

"Stryker has some more missions for me," he replied, growling. _So I was right,_ I thought. "We're going to Ohio."

"Sounds…fun." But I didn't say it like I meant it or anything. I made a mental note to look over his bookcase and grab some books for the car ride.

"Be ready in the morning, kid."

* * *

Victor suppressed the urge to throw the phone across the room and mentally berated himself for giving Stryker this number. _The old $*&$ just had ta count down the minutes until my week was up, didn't he?_ Victor growled to himself, pacing back and forth in his large bedroom. He wasn't opposed to the work at all; killing was what he was good at, and he was paid to do it, which was a sizable perk. He just didn't know what he was going to do with the kid! _Can't leave her here,_ he thought to himself,_ but what am I gonna do once I get there? She doesn't know how to kill. She'd run loco. So I'd have to leave her somewhere over there, too. _

He flexed his claws, watching them lengthen and extend. He didn't feel _bad_ about killing. He liked doing it, and besides, Bradley had it coming to him, for walking out on the team like that. They all did –especially Jimmy. _Love and hate are the same emotion, just going different directions._ And Victor definitely hated Jimmy.


	22. The Dream

**AN: I know it's short. A longer chapter is coming your way very soon, to celebrate the end of school :0)**

**22: The Dream**

_I feel it deep within, it's just beneath the skin_  
_I must confess that I feel like a monster_  
_I hate what I've become, the nightmare's just begun_  
_I must confess that I feel like a monster_  
_Skillet ~'Monster'_

This was just another long boring car ride to Nowheresville. It wasn't really called that; we were actually going to Springfield. But what the heck was in Springfield, Ohio? All I did on the car ride there was curl up in the passenger's seat and read one of the many books I had brought along. I could practically _feel _the way my life hung in the air; would this be the way my life was until I turned eighteen? Going from place to place with dear old dad as he carried out Stryker's dirty work, with occasional stops at a cabin in the mountains of Washington?

Wait. Strike that. I didn't have a life, period, so there was nothing to debate.

_That doesn't make me feel better._

It was an hour until dark when he pulled up on the outskirts of a small town. Far, far away, I could hear carnival sounds, but my ears didn't work in mileage, so just how far away they were, I didn't know.

Killing the engine (haha), he got out of the car, but before I could follow, he gave me a death glare and said curtly, "Stay in the car." I could probably figure out why in three guesses. "If you leave, I'll know. So don't move until I come back."

"How long will you be?" I said softly. I wasn't worried. Why would I be worried for him?

"An hour or two." He slammed the door.

* * *

I was asleep in the car, curled into a ball. My book had fallen on the floor, losing my place. I jerked awake as someone far away screamed and lights in the distance all extinguished at once. Plastering my ears to my head, I slapped my hands over them. I didn't want to hear anymore, see any more, or think any more about it. Someone had just died, and I knew who had done the deed. I put my coat over my head and tried to think of nothing, like I had in the cell when I was Stryker's prisoner.

Like I said, it doesn't work well.

He came back later, maybe twenty minutes. Not that I was counting or anything. He opened the door, slid his large bulk into the car, and turned the key to start the engine. I could smell faint traces of blood, and I hoped I wasn't going to be sick. "You asleep, kid?" he asked me. Like nothing had happened.

"And what if I was?" I said, keeping my head under my coat still as he drove off.

"You're awake now."

I worked enough courage to let my coat slide down to my chin. He looked just the same, but I saw water droplets in his long mutton chop sideburns, thanks to my enhanced sight. There were traces of water on his hands, too. The blood scent remained, but I saw no stains, one of the pluses to black material. His eyes met mine, and they were the same eyes.

"Lookin' for the monster?" he asked suddenly.

I shrugged, turning away.

"The monster's been right in front of you the whole time, kid. I don't hide what I am."

_I didn't see a monster when you trained me. I didn't feel a monster when you carried me away from the hellhole of Three Mile Island. You can't be a monster. _

_But I don't know that you're my dad, either. _

* * *

Her gaze was accusatory, at best. Damning, at worst. Why the #*$ should he care what a cub thought of him? Cubs didn't know squat. But she was _his_ cub –Val –and that made all the difference in the world. She was nodding off now, with her head against the window, squashing one of her ears, but she woke up whenever he hit a bump. Every single _$#*_ time he looked at her, he saw Rue. He managed to get into his killer mode long enough to forget for a while, and do away with Chris Bradley, the weak frail technopath. But not five minutes after he had cleared the scene and people began flooding toward his trailer, he had stared down at his red-coated claws, a sight that usually made him sadistically happy, and felt revulsion. Revulsion, and the need to wash away the staining color before he returned to the car. Except for her powers, he saw next to nothing of himself in Val. It was all Rue. And sometimes, he figured that was a good thing. Better that she take after her mother, who was a beautiful flower, a delicate angel, than her father the animal who only dreamed he was a man. _It's time ta wake up,_ he told himself, looking at the road. _I'm not a man, and I never was, and never will be. _It was all a dream.


	23. Canada

**23: Canada**

_"Revenge is a confession of pain."_  
_Latin Proverb_

"Are we going back?" I asked, cutting myself off before I said the word _home._ It wasn't home. Never would be.

"No."

"Then where are we going?" I asked, messing with my dark blond hair.

"Canada." His face darkened when he said the world.

"Oh." I stared out the window at windy roads lined with huge trees. Working up my courage, I asked, "Why?"

He didn't look at me, but I could smell his anger. It came off him in waves, but it wasn't directed at me. If it was, I had no doubt that I would be dead. "I've got some things to settle," he growled out. I kept my eyes on his extended claws. If he decided to act on his anger, they would come at me first.

"With whom?" I asked warily, not sure if curiosity actually _would _kill the cat, and not really wanting to depend on satisfaction to bring me back.

"My brother," he growled, and the anger on him was almost overwhelming. I decided to stop talking now.

* * *

**The next day.**

Stepping into the hotel room, I looked around. He was leaving me. Again. "When are you coming back?" I said.

"Late tonight. Maybe tomorrow. My room is next door. Don't –"

"I know," I said. "Don't leave." I picked up my book as he slammed the door, turning the outer key in the lock. _Thank goodness for Tom Sawyer,_ I thought, sighing and picking up the book. I would probably be able to finish it, and start another book besides.

* * *

_"It's time, old friend," Stryker had said happily into the phone. "Time to put the plan into action."_

_Victor thought he might puke from the tone the old frail used. "And once it's over, I get the adamantium, right?" he had demanded. _

_"Of course, captain. Now, you know what to do."_

_"Does his girl know?"_

_"She knows the general plan, but not when it will happen. That will ensure that Logan doesn't suspect anything. Now –"_

_Victor hated his brother's name. "Don't lecture me, Major." He hung up, and all Stryker heard on the other end was a dial tone._

Victor pulled his thoughts away from the conversation a few days ago. Jimmy would be finding his claw marks on the tree and the decapitated wolverine head soon, and the girl would be coming around the corner in a few seconds. He could hear the rackety engine coming around the curve. Stepping out of the woods, he let himself be seen by the mutant in Stryker's employ. He could smell the faint scent of fear, even from this distance as she hit the brake and the truck stopped moving forward. He advanced, watching her try to control her breathing and her facial expressions. They had never actually met, but they had seen each other once or twice. He hated her on sight, once that he knew she was the one who would have to seduce his brother and gain his trust in order to keep tabs on him. He detested all mutants who had some power over the mind. Compulsion and hypnotism were the worst of all, and that's what this girl was –a fox, sneaky and sly in her motives.

When Creed got close enough to the truck, he extended his claws and dug them into the rusting, paint-peeling metal of the hood, smiling a bit as the harsh, cringe-inducing sound filled the air. He ripped up the metal all the way to the windshield, where the female frail, whose looks and scent indicated that she had some sort of Native blood, stared up into his dark eyes.

"It's happening now?" she asked. He hated, absolutely _hated_ the fact that he could smell Jimmy on her.

"Now," he growled, pulling her door open. She started to step out but he grabbed her arm. "We have to make it seem realistic," he snarled, giving her a feral smile. "He has to smell your fear." And her eyes were growing large. He figured that soon they'd be the size as saucers.

Yanking her bodily out of the red truck, he tossed her over his black-clad shoulder like she weighed nothing at all and ran into the woods. Her body bumped and bounced on his shoulder, soft skin probably getting bruised with every thud. _Good,_ he thought, snarling. He was still incensed that he couldn't kill her outright. This pussyfooting around wasn't his style, but Jimmy had to believe she was dead, so Stryker could put the adamantium into him. The Major needed to see if it would actually work and if someone with even advanced healing could survive it. But Victor didn't care about his #*$& reasons. He _wanted_ to be indestructible and he didn't give a *#$ how he got it.

He tossed her dawn a couple hundred yards from the road, her fear-scent practically overwhelming. It was such an intoxicating, stimulating smell. Her face showed none of her fear, but her limbs were shaking. When he pulled the tube that held the syringe out of his coat, she demanded, "What is that?" voice barely shaking.

"Hydrochlorothiazide. It reduces the heart rate." He pulled the cap off and injected the fluid into her arm. It worked fast, and her eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped to the ground. Victor pulled the vial of blood out of another pocket and poured it over her, staining her top and pooling around her neck and torso. He tossed the dregs of the pig's blood over her jeans and left, slipping the tubes back into the hidden pockets of his black trench coat. That would be pretty sure to bring Jimmy running.

Now all he had to do was wait.


	24. Reunion

**24: Reunion**

_Take my life, my liberty_  
_It's all but a breath in the grand scheme of things_  
_Oh, I have found eternity_  
_It's a different kind of free_  
_And they can't take it from me_**  
**_"Different kind of Free" ~~Zoegirl_**  
**

Creed had had about four drinks, but he wasn't even nearly affected by it. It was very hard for him to get drunk due to his healing factor. Nonchalantly, he started drawing a smiley face with his claws into the wooden table in the rural bar. The wood shavings started to curve away from the circle around the smiley face, and the bartender leaned toward him.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the scruffy faced man asked.

Victor looked up into the dim light and chuckled, showing off his fangs. "What gave me away?" he asked sarcastically. A far-off roar echoed through the building. "You got insurance in this place?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" the bartender asked. "Uhh… n-no."  
Victor shrugged, uncaring, and went back to carving up the table with his claws. "Too bad." He didn't have long to wait.

"VICTOR!" Jimmy roared, running into the bar, his rage uncontainable.

"Well, well, well," Victor said, turning lazily. "Look what the cat dragged in," he sneered, a growl hidden within his contemptuous voice.

The scared bartender said shakily, trying to pacify the two mutants and save his bar, "Guys, whatever this is, take it outside."

Logan's bone claws slid out of his hands, and everyone in the bar ran out from fear. "Why?" Logan hissed; rage gripping him so hard his tense limbs were beginning to shake.

"Why?" Victor said lazily, raising an eyebrow. "You don't call," he said, getting up and letting his black trench coat sway behind him. "You don't write. How else an I supposed to get your attention?" His words were a challenge, and his claws lengthened in preparation for a fight.

Jimmy growled, and he snarled in return, and they simultaneously ran at each other. Just before they met, Victor went down on all fours and pounced, tackling his brother so that they both slammed through the wooden door of the bar.

Then Victor proceeded to beat the *$#% out of his brother, proving just who was better. "I hate to say it, Jimmy, but frankly I'm a little disappointed," Victor said, breathing hard after a few minutes. The younger man got up from the ground uneasily, but still determined. "Stay down," Victor commanded. _Just admit I'm the better one, and I won't have to kill you._ But Jimmy got up anyway. Like always. And Victor had to teach him a lesson. Admittedly, he did get in some good punches, but Victor landed on his feet atop the pile of logs and knocked them down on top of his brother. The logs didn't move, but he wasn't worried. Ferals couldn't die from that. Jumping down, Victor lifted up the log that had fallen on his brother, grabbed him by the neck of the shirt, and slammed him against the logs. "Tell me somethin' Jimmy," he hissed. "Was she worth it?" He searched his eyes, trying to figure it out. What made his brother become such a pansy that he couldn't even put up a decent fight? His brother panted tiredly and flinched.

Victor roared in anger and tossed him in the path of an incoming truck. He bounced over the logs in back multiple times before flying off and landing on railroad tracks. The older mutant walked slowly over to his brother, who was twitching and trying to move as his bones realigned. "When are you going to figure it out?" Victor snarled. "We're nothing like them."

Jimmy looked up at him with contempt and hatred in his eyes. "I …am _nothing…_ like you," he mumbled around the blood in his mouth."

"Sure you are," Creed said, smirking evilly. "You just don't know it yet." With that, he stomped down with his black boots on the extended claws of his brother. Jimmy howled as they crunched underfoot. Sirens wailed to life in the distance, and Victor walked off, somewhat satisfied that his brother had been broken, just like his claws.

* * *

I think I had fallen asleep from boredom. This motel didn't have a TV set, and I quickly grew tired of reading. I took a long shower, changed into my pajamas, left the bedside lamp on, and tried to stay awake. Didn't work.  
The key turning in the lock woke me, and I lifted my head from where it lay on my palm. I had fallen asleep with my head propped up on my hand, lying across the bed by my pile of books. I sat up in time to see the door open by the glow of the lamp. _He _was there, smelling like sweat and hate and blood. Not all of the blood was his, but the smell was so similar that I couldn't really distinguish between the two all that well. Wrinkling my nose and flattening my ears, I watched him push a woman into the room. She had dark hair and was tall; she smelled like blood as well. What was she doing here? Who was she?_ Why_ was she here?

For a second, I wondered –but no, if it were like that, she wouldn't be in my room. It had _better not_ be like that. I didn't want him as my father, I thought the idea of him and my mother was just weird and awkward, but the idea that he might …not cheat, since they hadn't been married, but –I don't know, I guess _betray _my mother in that way seemed very wrong, somehow.

"We're taking her to Three Mile island tomorrow," he told me without letting me speak. "Orders," he growled out. His face was a mask of rage, some with the woman, but mostly at someone who wasn't present.

My ears flattened tightly against my skull. "I don't want to go back there," I snarled. "Ever."

"You don't have to. We're just dropping her off to Stryker's men. Be ready at seven." He slammed the door and locked it.

The woman was staring at me. I stared back. "Who are you?" I asked warily.

"Kayla Silverfox," she replied, blinking. Her voice was smooth and sweet. "Who are you?"

"Val," I said. "Why are you going to Three Mile island?"

"I have to report back to a man there," she said unhappily.

"Stryker," I filled in for her. Ugh, she worked for Stryker? My expression became one of disgust.

"Yes," she said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"I've been there. I hate him," I spat.

"You've been there?" Kayla moved to sit on the side of the other double bed. "Did you see a girl there, about sixteen, my height, blond –"

"Emma," I said, nodding.

"She's my sister!" she exclaimed. "How is she? Is she okay?"

"Yeah," I said, blinking, "she was fine."

Kayla sighed in relief and put her head in her hands. "I work for Stryker because I have to," she mumbled around her hands. "He said he'd let her go if I helped him."

"Help him do what?"

"Keep track of a mutant. But it's over now. Stryker wants him for something, and the only way he'll give in is if he thinks I'm dead." She sighed again. "He loves me."

"Do you love him?" I asked, drawing my knees up to my chest. This emotion was a strange thing.

She whispered, "I think so." She looked up at me. "Why are you here? Is he taking you there too?" 'He' being Creed.

"No." I took a deep breath. "He's my father." The words that I thought would be so hard to say, the words I had barely let myself believe, were surprisingly easy to speak, slipping out before I knew what I had said. Three little words, so unassuming, but so powerful when spoken together: I didn't know if I liked them or not.

"Oh," she said, softly, her eyes widening. "He's Logan's brother." Logan being the guy who loved her? I didn't know what to say to that. Did that make her my sort-of Aunt? She didn't say they were married. _Ick ick ick. Gross_. "Do you have any clothes that you think would fit me?" she asked suddenly, looking down at her top that was covered in dried blood, as well as her skin.

"Maybe a shirt," I said, looking at her as she stood up, "But not jeans, probably." She was much curvier than myself.

"That's fine. They're not very badly stained." She rubbed her pants. I hunted up a t-shirt for her and she closed the door to the bathroom to take a shower.

As the shower hissed, pouring out its water, I fell asleep again and didn't wake 'til morning.

* * *

I got up before Kayla, and used the bathroom, got dressed, and brushed my teeth first, so that when I walked out of the bathroom, she had woken up. "Oh!" she exclaimed, sitting up and staring at me.

I looked down at myself and then behind me, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What?"

"…I hadn't noticed your ears last night," she explained, getting up. "They're very pretty," she added, smiling.

I reached up to touch my unusual appendages. "Yeah," I said, brushing the light brown fur on them. "Thanks." We had twenty minutes until seven o'clock, so I packed my duffle and curled up in a chair to read _The Phantom of the Opera_ by Gaston Leroux while Kayla freshened up. I asked her what she had done with her other top, and she said she had thrown it away. I didn't blame her.

The door was unlocked right on the dot of seven and I stuffed my book in my bag and dashed out, breathing in the fresh air. I had been cooped up for a _long time,_ and I felt antsy.

So I took a run around the parking lot, and arrived back at the car in time to call shotgun. Kayla didn't seem to mind; any buffer between herself and Creed would be welcome, I could see. He seemed much more relaxed this morning, somewhat cool and collected. There wasn't any snarling and he wasn't giving off any scents except his natural one and slight irritation. That was good, because the long car ride could have been so much worse if he was ticked off.

* * *

I hadn't been awake or able to see before when I left the accursed island, and even now, when my green cat eyes were able to take in my surroundings, I didn't think the place was that great. Everything was cement, disguised with nuclear reactor towers, and a bridge was the only way onto the island.

Scrunching up my legs, so that my knees were tucked under my chin, I said, "I'm not going there."

"You don't have to, kid."

"I'm not going there!"

He turned to me with a glare. "Don't tell me you have a hearing problem with those big ears. I said, _you don't have to."_ Pulling over onto the side of the road, he stopped just in front of the bridge that lead up to the Island. "We're just dropping her off." Kayla got out of the backseat, her face exhibiting her emotions –mostly aversion.

"Bye Val," she said and waved a little. I waved back, and she began walking across the bridge to the other side.

He put the car into reverse and began backing up to make a U-turn. "Where to now?" I said finally, finding another way to say '_where are we going?_' and wanting to get away from here.

"Kid," he said as he turned to me, "I won't let him hurt you." His dark-eyed gaze caught my own and I froze. _He knows. He knows how scared I am. Does he think I'm weak? That I can't take care of myself? _

"I'm not a frail," I whispered, almost to myself.

" 'Course you're not. You're my cub." He put the car into drive as I digested this. All I could think of was, _I'm wanted. _There was a sense of belonging in the words, of acceptance and possessiveness. But that was okay with me. Reassured of this, I nodded and sat up normally, looking out the window to the next place we would go.


	25. Missions

**25: Missions**

_Now there's no holding back_  
_I"m making to attack_  
_My blood is singing with your voice_  
_I want to pour it out_**  
**

_Florence + The Machine ~ 'Howl'_

The days blurred together, it seemed. We stopped in the weirdest places. Why Stryker wanted him to do something there, I had no clue. Did I wonder? Yes. Did I ask? No.

We systematically stopped in some rinky-dink town called Bayville, the party city of Las Vegas, and now we were on to New Orleans. At all the stops, I was sternly ordered to stay in either the car or a hotel room and threatened with dire consequences should I even think of leaving.  
It wasn't like I was scared, I knew I could heal from whatever he threw at me, even though that might be child abuse, but… yeah. It wasn't a fear, just a _very healthy respect_ for a man who killed people very creatively. So here I was in the car, listening to the windshield wipers swish across the glass, brushing the water droplets away so that he could see the road. I was getting very used to take out food and sleeping in the passenger's seat. _Is this what I'll be doing until I'm not a minor anymore?_ Lovely.

"Don't go to sleep, kid. We're stopping at a motel in another ten miles." I lifted my head and wondered if I should add psychic to his list of powers. "Don't look so surprised," he told me, smirking. "You smelled drowsy." His claws extended and hit the cruise control without him ever moving his hands.

"You can smell sleepy?" I said, shifting in my seat to wake myself up.

"There are smells for everything, kid."

"My name is Val," I muttered.

"I know." His fangs gleamed as he smiled.

"So why don't you use it?" I said, irritated beyond belief.

"It's a lot more entertaining to see your hackles rise."

I snorted, looking away. _Mrwor._ It meant _ugh_ in cat.

* * *

Victor pulled into the motel parking lot and glanced over at…Val. She had fallen asleep anyway. He shook his head, knowing that she looked so much like her mother. Though she had his temperament. For the cub that she was, he had made a pretty good one. Rather than wake her, he just opened her door and picked her up, carrying to her room and setting her on the bed. He figured if she got cold and woke up, she could put herself under the blankets. He checked that her door was locked before going to his room and promptly putting his head on the pillow. But he couldn't sleep. The events of the last few days kept replaying in his head, over and over. The distrust for Stryker was growing. _That *$# major… keeps tryin' ta weasel outta our deal._

He remembered the scene in the high school. After pouncing on the punk kid, Stryker had stepped in, spoiling his fun. After shooting Creed a disapproving look he had tranq'ed him and said, _"All that's left now is Logan and I …trust that you can handle that."_

_"I did before, didn't I?" he had snarled, remembering their fight up in Canada._

_"Oh, yes," Stryker said rather scornfully, walking past. "You did that."_

_Creed's eyes had narrowed at his tone. No human turned its back on him. He had turned his head to watch Stryker walk down the hall. "Our deal. It still applies, right?" Suspicion laced his tone. _

_"Of course," Stryker had said, turning, "Now bag him and tag him, captain."_

He had handed the kid off to the waiting soldiers, and had walked three blocks back to where he had parked his car. Val had given him a worried look, but had said nothing. After he had been driving for ten minutes, she finally said, _"I don't suppose I'm allowed to ask about that red light that flashed, or why you smell like smoke."_

_"No, you're not." He had growled out._

_She had shrugged and let it go._

He stared up at the hotel ceiling and wondered why he cared more about Stryker staying away from Val and less about the adamantium now.

* * *

This staying-in-the-car idea was all well and good, but it failed to incorporate the idea that after eating, sometimes one needed to use restroom facilities. Dusk was falling, and the nightlife was beginning to come out. I squirmed uncomfortably, knowing it might be a long time before he came back. I pulled on the door handle to let myself out, not able to stand the wait. Shutting the door, I pressed my ears flat to my head and tried to arrange my hair over them. The view through the side view mirror wasn't the best, so I couldn't tell how affective my attempt was.

A Cajun Restaurant blasted jazz down the street; I figured they would have a bathroom. The maître d' tried to seat me, but I explained my problem. She looked a little suspicious, but she let me use their facilities. I made doubly sure to thank her profusely before I left, although what would I have done? Steal all their toilet paper and soap?

I made tracks to the car, feeling a whole lot better. That feeling didn't last long.

_No, no, don't do this, _I begged inwardly as I tugged on the door handle. It wouldn't open. It had locked me out. _Awesome…_ I thought sarcastically as I sat on the hood. This was going to be _so much fun_ to explain to him.

I quickly realized that sitting in a locked car offered a lot more security than sitting atop a locked car, especially in New Orleans at night. People walking around gave me funny looks, and I tried to look everywhere but at them.

"Hey babe," some obviously drunk guy slurred.

_Creeper, _I thought to myself, pretending not to hear. _Keep walking._

He didn't. "What're y' doin' out heah by y'self?"

_Stalker, _I thought, glancing around for a quick exit if I needed it. I could smell the booze on them, mixing with their boring human scent; it made my hackles rise.

"She's not talkin'. Think she can't heah us?" one asked.

_Oh, yay, there's a pack of them. _

"Y're an idjut," another said as he swayed toward me.

I hissed and snarled, dodging his outstretched hand. My ears pricked up and they all yelped, sobering up somewhat. "Stay away from me, creep," I growled. Intimidation might make them leave; I hadn't learned to take on multiple attackers just yet.

"Sh-she's got cat ears," the first one slurred. _Really, Sherlock? _

"It's a mutant!" another said, pointing a finger at me.

"Freak!"

"Mutie!"

"Kill it!"

_Fabulous._ One of them swung at me. Dodging his fist required rolling off the car. I kicked his legs out from under him and made for the exit I had scouted out. Apparently, the human flight instinct within me was still alive and well.

"Get it!" Their cries had attracted the rabble of the city, the makings of a mob. _Not good, _I thought frantically to myself as I dashed through the alleys of New Orleans, staying away from the French Quarter; that's where _he _had gone.

I turned my head; they were gaining on me. Their angry faces freaked me out. Just as I looked forward again, I hit my forehead REALLY HARD on something, so hard that I fell to my knees and saw stars. I could feel the gash on my head begin to heal, but blood dripped into my eyes, making it hard to see. I had hit a fire escape ladder that wasn't pulled up all the way. Beginning to unsteadily run again, I passed another alley mouth and an arm shot out and grabbed me.

Shrieking, I started to punch the body the arm was attached to, but a hoarse whisper said, "I'm a friend! Calm down!" My eyes that could see in the dark perceived a guy my age or a little older, with spiky hair. "This way!" he exclaimed, tugging me along as my pursuers closed in. Oddly enough, I wasn't scared. It felt like my emotions had been wrapped in cotton.

"Where are we going?" I said as I nearly tripped over a fallen trash can lid.

"Away from here," he said, darting around a corner. All around were shadowy corners and blazing neon signs as we passed through crowded streets of partiers and through the alleys of crumbling brick buildings.

"Do you know where you're going?" I demanded.

"Nope," he replied cheerfully, and my anger and fear washed away again as the grip on my hand tightened. My feet felt heavy, and I stumbled.

"Whatever that is, stop doing it! It makes my feet go all muddled!"

"Sorry," he said, and my adrenaline came flooding back. I would need it –our pursuers were catching up, having absorbed some fresh, sober people into their midst. There was also the fact that we had hit a dead end. Not literally, but it was a close thing. A large wooden fence illuminated by a flickering streetlight on the other side blocked our escape onto the next thoroughfare.

"What do we do?" I yelled, searching for something to scale the fence with.

"Best defense is a good offense," he said, smiling. The streetlight sparked. His eyes glinted, and I started backing up. "Here they come," he whispered. I turned to face our aggressors and flexed my fists. My back was to a wall. I could do this.

They threw rocks and bricks.

It hurt a lot, even though I healed quickly.

I yowled and tossed them back with better accuracy. _Thank you, night vision._

They screamed.

The light bulb in the streetlight glowed brightly and then burst. My hair stood up on my head as strings of pure electricity flowed to my spiky-haired rescuer. He held out his hands to contain the small lightning bolts. About half the crowd ran away just at that. The rest hit the road as the lightning began to shoot out at them. The air was totally charged with electrons, making the hair on my arms stand on end. The mental picture I got was like a yo-yo shooting out and then retracting. With yells and hollers, they scattered like chaff blown by the wind. And then we were alone. I shook my head, feeling a slightly fuzzy, sleepy feeling leave me.

"You were doing it again, weren't you?" I said accusingly. He didn't turn around or move. The lighting was gone from his hand, which was good; he wasn't responding, though. _Is this bad?_ I wondered, walking toward him. I reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. "Hey are you okay?"

He whirled around. "No, don't –"

My palm made contact with his shoulder, I heard a loud 'zap', and there was PAIN in my hand. I jerked back, grabbing my right wrist. We both stared at the blackened, crisp skin on my hand.

"Holy…. I'm so sorry –I can't control the discharge –" he immediately began saying.

"No, no it's okay," I said slowly. My hand began to slough off the dead, charred skin and regenerate new, healthy skin. Tilting my palm, I let the dead skin fall off like the dust it now was. "It's okay," I said gain with a smile. He smiled back. I took a minute to study him, having a breather now. His hair was indeed spiky and jet-black; his eyes were dark, but lights danced in their depths. A _side effect of electricity?_ I wondered. He just looked like a regular guy in jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket.

"Sooo…." I said. "If you walk outside when it's lightning, do you get hit?"  
"I haven't tried it." He smiled. "I only manipulate the electricity."

"What were you doing that was making me sleepy, then?"

"I'm an empath as well. Sorry. I usually equate calm with sleep, and I was trying to calm you down. I'm Nate," he added. "What's your name?"

"Val," I said. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I bit my lip. "Why did you help me?"

He shrugged. "I could feel your emotions. You were scared. 'Sides, we should stick together you know?"

No, I didn't. I didn't know anyone who would do what he did for me. "I think I should… get back," I mumbled. "He's gonna be _really_ mad if he comes back and I'm gone…"  
"Who?"  
"My dad." It was a little easier than telling Kayla. "Do you know the way back?"  
"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe we should find it." He held his hand out to me, and I gave it a look. "The discharge is all gone," he told me.

That wasn't what made me look at it strangely, but I took it. "Does it shock you, too?" I asked.

"No. There's just a buzz in my fingers when I'm throwing lightning," he –Nate –said.

We started to walk back the way we came, but I quickly realized something weird was going on. His gait was just strange. "Are you limping?" I finally said, stopping. "Are you hurt?"

"No –well, yes, I am limping but…I was born like this. One leg is slightly shorter than the other."

My brow furrowed. "But you ran just fine…"

He laughed in an embarrassed way. "Well…I cheat. I levitate."

"You're an empath, you manipulate electricity, and you levitate?"

"Yep."

I rolled my eyes and started walking again. "I'm glad I'm just a feral."

"How about a question for a question?" Nate asked. "Is Val short for something?"

"Uh huh. Valiant. Did we pass that fire hydrant?" I pointed.

"Cool name. Yeah, I'm pretty sure we go left here." We walked along in silence, listening to the music that seeped out of the clubs, bars, and gin joints along the way.

* * *

Victor could see John Wraith on the balcony of the club. He smiled and kicked a fallen beer bottle, walking into the shadows. Wraith teleported into the alley.

"Are you my brother's new babysitter, John?" he said, stepping out of the shadows.

Wraith turned. "I ain't Bradley, Victor, and your creepy black coat don't scare me."

"Really?" Creed smirked. "Worked on Dukes." John's fist collided with his jaw and Victor hissed, recoiling.

"You shouldn't'a done that," john said, putting up a boxer's stance. "Now I'm gonna kill ya 'fore Logan even gets the chance." He 'ported again, dodging Victor's swipe to reappear, socking Creed from all angles.

"Y'know John, there's something I always wanted to tell you," Creed said as Wraith teleported again. Victor swung around with claws extended and caught him right in between solid and gas. "You're predictable." His hand was inside of John's stomach. John gagged, frantically trying to 'port away again, but Victor's grip wouldn't let him go. "Ooh. I can feel your spine, Johnny boy. That's funny, never knew you had one." Viciously snapping John's spine, Victor pulled his hand out of the corpse of John Wraith, letting it fall to the ground. He sneered at the man as he pulled a vial out of his coat and extracted the DNA Stryker wanted.

Right then the alley wall exploded and a man came flying through. Putting vial in his pocket, Creed stared from his crouch as his little brother picked himself up, coughing._ You always were a little dense, Jimmy, _he thought as Logan finally caught sight of him. Out of the building hopped a semi-familiar Cajun who muttered something, but was elbowed in the face by Jimmy. Victor got to his feet as Jimmy extended his new adamantium claws.

"Ooh," Creed said sarcastically, "shiny."

His brother just stood there, shaking from anger.

"Tell me somethin', Jimmy. Do you even know how to kill me?" Victor growled.

Jimmy's expression was pure rage. "I'm gonna cut your *$*#$ head off. See if that works."

Victor laughed. The two ran at each other and Victor pounced, but this time Logan was ready. He dodged and let Victor go sliding across the alley.

Jimmy cracked his neck. "Gettin' slow, old man," he said spitefully.

They engaged again. Victor roared as Jimmy's metal claws sliced through his hand. The other claws stabbed him in the chest, pinning him against a stack of crates.

"Son of a $*#%," Jimmy hissed as Victor tried to breathe past the blood filling his lungs. "You're going to die to what you did to her."

Creed's lip lifted in a snarl, showing his fangs. _Anyone who's willing to kill because of a woman is a whipped pup._

And then the alley exploded again. The blast forced the two brothers apart and down into opposite sides of the alley. Victor let his lungs heal, and then pushed his bulk off the ground, but then froze for a second, cocking his head.

Yells. Far away and very distant, but he could still recognize one of them.

Val. _#*% you kid, didn't I tell you to stay in the #$& car!_ He inwardly berated her.Victor stared at his brother, just beginning to regain his feet. _I don't need ta prove I'm better than ya right now. Plenty a time to do that later. _Victor began to back down the alley, warily but rapidly.

"Victor!" Jimmy yelled after him, incensed.

_Sorry Jimmy. I don't have time ta kick your *#$ right now. My cub is worth more than your sorry traitorous hide!_

Creed made tracks away from the French Quarter by way of rooftops and circuitous routes. He didn't want Jimmy tracing him back to his cub. He didn't trust anyone with what belonged to him. He had time now to vent his anger, so every once in a while he would crush something to express his general frustration at Jimmy, Stryker, and pretty much the whole world. He paused to smell the air, and sure enough, her scent rode the air currents. _Hell and blast, _he inwardly cursed,_ I told her to stay in the $*$# car! _He jumped from the rooftop he was currently on and landed lightly on his feet like the big cat he was. He was only a few blocks now.


	26. Old Wounds Bleed Fresh

**26: Old Wounds Bleed Fresh**

_Do I have to scream for you to hear me?_  
_ Do I have to bleed for you to see me?_  
_ 'Cause I grieve, you're not listening to me_  
_ Do I need to scream?_  
_'Scream' ~Zoegirl_

We had found the car, and I was trying to assure Nate that I would be fine. "You don't have to stick around."

"I really don't feel good about leaving you here," Nate said, staring at me. The lights in his dark eyes were sparking anxiously.

"I can take care of myself, you know," I said.

"Really?" he said, the left side of his mouth turning up. "That must be why you needed me to rescue you."

"You did not rescue me. I am not a damsel in distress," I muttered. "And I would have been _just fine _had you not stepped in." I took a deep breath. "However, it was very kind of you to step in. Thank you."

He looked slightly mollified. He cast his eyes about for some excuse to keep him here, but I kept my face firmly set. "Okay, fine," he said, caving. "But at least take my phone number, okay?" Digging around in his pockets, he pulled out a pen and scrap of paper where he scribbled down something and held it out to me.

"What am I, two?" I said, throwing my hands in the air.

"No, you're probably my age," Nate said,"

"And how old is that?"

"Sixteen."

I snorted and smirked.

"Am I off?" he said, still holding out the paper.

I snatched it out of his hands. "I'm fifteen, and it's not really any of your business." But I made sure to tuck the paper securely in one of my pockets.

"Probably not." He sighed. "I know you can take care of yourself, Val." He gave me a serious look.

You might not know this, but serious looks are really cute. I nodded awkwardly, and the tips of my ears turned red. "Thanks, Nate. I…I appreciate it." I was about to say something else, but then _he _showed up, and I knew I was in deep trouble.

* * *

Victor stalked into the clearing, radiating fury and indignation. "What. The. $*#%. Happened?" he demanded, voice very low and very, very deadly.

"I can explain," the cub said, coming up to him with an apprehensive expression on her face.

"You had better," he said, deadly warning coating his tone. He glanced at the boy behind her who was staring with concern. Who the $&#* was he? What was he doing here? Where had he come from?

"I had to use the bathroom, so I went to find one, and then the car locked me out!" She said. "There was nothing I could do!"

"What happened after that?" he snarled. "You got into trouble, didn't you?"

"Well, sort of –"

"And who the *#$ is that?" Creed said, his eyes on the boy. He briefly envisioned ripping him apart limb by limb.

"He helped me get away from the mob," she said, exasperated.

"A mob?" He snarled. "Get in the car."

Her ears lay flat on her head, wary. "But –"

"_NOW."_ He growled dangerously.

Her cat eyes flashed and she hissed, "Fine." She walked up to the boy and said softly, "Thanks. I'll be okay." She glared when the boy stared to open his mouth. That glare was the only thing stopping Victor from walking up and ripping him apart. She got into the car, slamming the door. He got into the car and started the engine. The mood was icy, brittle.

Gunning the engine, Victor drove out of New Orleans in silence. Once on I-10, heading east, she said, "I'm hungry."

His reply was, "We'll stop in Biloxi."

The minutes passed very, very slowly. When Biloxi was finally in sight, he pulled over in the parking lot of a diner and looked over at his cub.

"Start from the beginning. And it had better be good." The threat was evident in his words.

She heaved a sarcastic sigh and started talking.

* * *

"…And then we walked back," I finished.

"Is this going to happen every time I leave you?"

I snapped, "Maybe if you didn't _leave_ –"

"Don't get smart with me, kid." He got out of the car, walked around to the passenger door, and yanked me out by the front of my shirt. "I told you to keep out of trouble!"

"Trouble? What about you?" I gasped angrily. "I'm not the one that's covered in blood!" My nose was wrinkling from the strong coppery tang of the liquid that coated his black overcoat. It had filled the car by now, and I was shaking from the stench and his rage and my fury. "What were you doing in New Orleans?"

"You don't need to know."

"Why? Is it for Stryker?" I demanded. "Why am I even asking; everything's for Stryker. Did you kill someone?" I asked bitterly.

"$*&$ it, cub, I am your father," he growled dangerously, "and I WILL NOT be questioned."

"You are NOT my FATHER!" I shrieked. "You had NOTHING to do with me OR my mother! You don't care! You KIDNAPPED me! I _HATE _you!" By the time I finished I was spitting mad and crying.

I didn't even see him move, but somehow his huge hands were on my shoulders and his claws were digging into my muscles. More tears flowed, this time from pain as blood seeped from the wounds. They weren't healing because he wouldn't let me go.

"Now, you listen, and you listen good." His voice was low, dark, but all the bile had drained from it. "Look at me." I shook my head obstinately and kept my eyes screwed shut as tears forced their way out. He shook me, and my torn muscles yelped in pain. "_Look at me_," he growled. I opened my bloodshot, tearstained eyes and met his. He stared at me with his dark eyes as he said. "You may not think I don't give a $*#& about you. But you're wrong."

"So why _do _you give a $*%?" I said bitterly around hiccups.

"Because you're your mother's daughter." I stared at him as he continued, "If you'd use the brains I'm pretty $*& sure God gave you, you'd know what I say is true. I may not know what love is, and I may not have loved your mother, but whatever I felt for her, it came pretty #*% close to it. And I feel the same for you by default. So when I overreact, it's only because I was *$& worried about you."

The scents coming down my nasal passages were ones of utter sincerity and truth; no deception was in them. I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and managed a warbled, "What?"

He raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Don't tell me those $*& big ears a' yours don't work, Valiant. You might need ta ask for a refund."

More tears threatened to spill over as something buried very deep inside me responded to his words. It felt like the pain in my shoulders, a biting ache –but a good pain, the kind that hurts because you know that the wound is starting to heal. "Say that again," I whispered.

"You might need ta ask –"

"No, no," I interrupted, staring into his eyes. "The part where you said my name."

Something in his eyes started to glow. "Valiant," he said in a voice like a purr.

I sniffed, and smiled waveringly. "You cuss a lot when you're angry."

He laughed, a barking, happy laugh. "Yeah."

"Can you let go now?"

He blinked, and I knew then it had been completely reflex for him to grab me with his claws out. He kindly retracted them and I felt the bite of pain that meant my body was doing its job and putting everything back together. "Sorry…Val."

With a kind of half sob, half laugh, I threw myself at him, just wanting someone to hold me for the first time since my mother died, just wanting to know that somebody cared. My arms wrapped around his muscled chest and I could smell his surprise. He hadn't been expecting it. But his arms came up and returned my hug anyway. _He cares. He really does. It doesn't matter what he's done. He cares. _I burrowed past his trench coat and breathed in the scent that was uniquely him. It no longer spoke of danger to me –it was warm, spicy, and safe. He rubbed my back and I started to breathe normally for the first time in a while.

"This isn't a frail thing, is it?" I whispered into his chest.

My ears twitched as they caught his answer. "No, just a female thing."

I tilted my head back and stared at him. He was grinning wide enough to show his fangs. "Just kiddin' Val."

The wounds in my shoulders closed completely over, whole once again. They weren't the only ones.

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	27. Return

**27: Return**  
_There's a girl in the corner _  
_ With tear stains on her eyes _  
_ From the places she's wandered _  
_ And the shame she can't hide _  
_ She says, "How did I get here? _  
_ I'm not who I once was. _  
_ And I'm crippled by the fear _  
_ That I've fallen too far to love"_  
Tenth Avenue North ~'You Are More'

"I need you back here, Victor."

"No," the Sabertooth at the other end of the phone line snarled. "Take Jimmy down on your own, Stryker." Val had said she wasn't ever going back there, and he wasn't going to leave her so soon.

"Victor, we still need to talk some things over. The test results are almost done," Stryker said.

Creed growled, slowly and darkly. Thoughts warred in his head between the test results for the adamantium and keeping his cub away from Stryker.

"We need you here, Victor." Stryker paused, hearing no response from the other end. "Do I have to make this an order?"

"No," he hissed. "I'll come back and save you from my baby brother, Major." He slammed the phone down and thought, _I wouldn't stop him if he were inclined to rip your throat out, though._

He left the phone booth and walked back to the car. "I've got to go to Pennsylvania," he said, sliding into the car.

"The Island," Val said.  
"You won't be going there. I'll leave you in a hotel on the mainland," he said. He turned on the ignition and the pulled out of the parking lot.

Her oval eyes dropped to her lap and she nodded. "Why does he want you back?"

Victor glanced at her, his dark eyes narrowed. "My brother's coming there, and he's afraid."

"The one in Canada?" she asked.

"How'd you know 'bout that?"

"Kayla," she said softly.

He growled to himself, tapping a long claw on the steering wheel. _'I am nothing like you,' _Jimmy spat in his memory. _'I'm done,'_ he said in Africa. Traitor. Betrayer. Deserter… _But was he really doin' all that?_ Victor asked himself. _Maybe he saw Stryker for what he was a lot sooner than me._ "Yeah," he said in a low voice. "The one in Canada. His name's Jimmy."

"I thought his name was Logan."

"That's what he's been goin' by these past years. He's your uncle," Creed added.

"Well, yeah, I kinda got that," Val said dryly.

"You're gettin' wise, kid," he said with a laugh, giving her a playful cuff on the ear.

She leaned out of his reach and smirked.

* * *

I stared out the hotel window at the rapidly darkening skyline. He had already left an hour ago. I hadn't worked up the courage to tell him that I didn't want him to leave.

He probably would have gone anyway. It didn't matter. At least I tried to pretend that it didn't. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was totally wrong.

This brother of his –my uncle –he was the blood scent that was so hard to distinguish from my…father's. In New Orleans, where they had met up, he had come back covered with his own blood –very little belonged to this uncle of mine. _What if he's better?_ I wondered, trying to see if I could spot the nuclear reactor towers in the distance. _What if they fight, and he never comes back to me?_

Some of this was just unreasonable fear. I had a deep-set fear of people leaving me, whether voluntarily or involuntarily. Mom had left through no fault of her own. But he could heal better than I could. _I'm worrying about nothing. He's coming back._

Right?

* * *

I had tried to sleep, but it didn't work. I tossed and turned and my conscience pulled at my mind. The clock's burning red numbers said it was four in the morning. I couldn't stop thinking. I was afraid of the island, but I had gotten away. How many kids there hadn't ever left, except Remy and me?

How many never would?

There was the boy that always had the gag around his face for some reason, Emma and her diamond skin, the little girl with dark skin and shockingly white hair, the girl whose cage was icy… so many, many others. He had probably added more by now.

Stryker was an untrustworthy snake and a liar. If he kidnapped children, would he lie to my father?

Of course.

_Am I so afraid of a man and a place,_ I told myself loathingly, _that I'm not willing to take action anymore? I am not a coward and I am not a frail!_

I couldn't believe I had just talked myself into going back onto the island.

* * *

It was a good thing this hotel was tall, although I had the hardest time finding the door that got me onto the roof. I had shed my jackets and ripped slits into one of my baggy t-shirts to make room for my wings to grow. Standing there on the edge of the roof, I focused on the tingling sensation and coaxed the gray downy wings through their respective holes. Once my wingspan had fully extended, I flapped my wings a couple times and stepped off the roof without giving myself time to think about it.

A powerful swipe of my wings lifted me up and into the air currents and I concentrated on getting up into the cloud cover, not so deep that I would get lost, but enough that no one would see me from the ground. I could only imagine the conversations –"look, up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! No, it's definitely got wings!"

That wouldn't go over so well with the local media, even if someone were awake to see me.

I soared ever closer toward the Island.

* * *

Victor perched outside the lighted windows of the lab, hiding in the darkness. His claws extended and retracted as he watched Logan enter through the far door. His baby brother didn't look too worse for wear, but rage was written all over his face.

"Logan," Stryker said, not looking up to acknowledge him; his attention was on the body on the table. "Welcome back to the war."

Jimmy growled angrily. "Before I _gut_ you, I want to know why," he demanded.

"I needed your powers for the pool," Stryker said calmly, but Victor could smell his unease.

"The what?" he barked, confused.

"The mutant killer. Deadpool. Years of searching and finding the _right _powers that can coexist in one body without …ripping it apart," Stryker said, walking toward him. "Logan, you made Weapon XI possible. I…_asked_ you to help," he said, shrugging, "but you said you wanted the quiet life. Well, I've learned that nothing motivates the men in your family like… revenge." Smug scents began oozing off of him.

Victor frowned. Motivated the _men_? As in, both brothers? His lip lifted in a snarl as he realized that Stryker had played on his hatred for Jimmy to push him to hunt his mutants for him. _Slippery *#&$..._

Stryker sat down on a table and stared at someone over Logan's shoulder. The Wolverine turned around and gasped. "Who're you?" he demanded. Kayla looked back at him sadly and silently.

"Oh she's real, old friend," Stryker assured him. Logan acted like he had been punched in the gut, kneeling down on the cement floor, staring at the woman in shock. "Did you really think we'd just let you _walk away_?" Stryker asked him.

Victor watched Jimmy's face closely. Hurt and pain were the main expressions, along with disbelief and shock. This really had affected him in more ways than one. His emotions were tangled up with that woman. And for the first time in a long, long time, Victor felt a flicker of fear. His emotions were becoming tangled too.

Stryker continued in his soft, reasonable voice. "You're a dangerous man. We like to keep our eye on dangerous men. Tell him about the day you died," he prompted Kayla.

She swallowed and said in an unemotional, extremely controlled voice, "They gave me a shot of hydrochlorothiazide. It reduces the heart rate so low it appears you've… flat lined."

"Don't be angry with her," Stryker whispered. "She's a real credit –to your _species_." Logan's gaze snapped up to the woman's in shock. "Did you know her sister has _diamond hard skin?_ Kayla's mutation is _tacto-hypnosis. _She can influence people as long as she…touches them. Quite a useful tool in a seduction. It was never_ real_, old friend." Kayla's eyes widened and took a step or two forward, but Stryker pulled his lab coat aside and flashed the handle of a gun. She stopped walking.

"It was real for _me_," Logan said in an injured, bitter tone.

"I told you if you came down this road you wouldn't like what you found," Stryker said triumphantly.

Victor had seen Kayla try to walk forward, to protest, but Jimmy hadn't. As he stared at the scene unfolding before him, he was frozen to the spot. All he could think of was, _what if that was Rue in there that had betrayed and tricked me? How would I feel? How would I react?_

He would be angry as $*&, he thought, and probably would go off in a berserker rage, trying to kill her and everyone else around from the pain that he couldn't heal from. But Jimmy…he just crouched there, looking at her. Wasn't that proof that he was weak? He wouldn't even lash out at her. He could take his brother on.

"That story you told me," Logan began, "about the man who gets flowers for the moon. I had it _backwards_," he said painfully, bitterly. "I thought you were the moon and I was your Wolverine. But you're the _trickster_ aren't you?" he accused her. "I'm just the food who got played." The smell of salt filled the air as tears trickled down Kayla's cheeks. She stood stoically and took the accusations without murmur, but all the hurt and apologies in the world spilled out of her eyes. "Worst part of it is I should have known," Logan said. "But I ignored my instincts. I ignored what I _really_ am." He shook his head and stood. "But that won't ever happen again." He walked out of the room, pounded down the stairs, and burst out of the building.

Victor stood up and crept silently around the outside of the lab, stepping carefully on the scaffolding, using the cat-like grace that was coded into his DNA.

Kayla wiped the tear tracks from her face and took several deep breaths. "Sir?" she said.

"Not now, Kayla," Stryker said, brushing her off. His attention returned to the body the doctors were operating on.

"I have done _everything _you've asked," she said, walking forward even as her voice cracked. "My sister. You said if I helped you, you'd let her _go_." Her voice cracked on the last word.

Stryker turned around and smiled at her. "Kayla, it's not as simple as that. Her mutation is really unique, quite beautiful. We just need a _little_ more time to analyze it, that's all."

"You let him go," Victor said from his perch above them. They both flinched and turned. He jumped down to land lightly on his feet like his cat namesake.

"Victor, please," Stryker began.

"You _can't _let him go," Victor growled.

"You can'tbeat him," Stryker argued.

"Then _give me the adamantium_!" Victor demanded.

"The tests came back –"

"We had a deal!" he yelled. _Adamantium and Val; that was the deal! I can take him. I can!_

"You would _never survive_ _the operation_," Stryker exclaimed.

Victor stared at him in disbelief and rage. "I can take anything he can," he growled darkly.

"No, you can't," Stryker contradicted. "You're my favorite soldier, Victor; be _patient_, your time will come –"

Kayla shook her head, interrupting Stryker's spiel. "He's _using_ us," she said. "You can see it in his face. He's lying! We have to stop this!" she cried. She ran forward, but Victor only smelled Jimmy's scent on her, and he reached out and grabbed her neck, digging his claws into her skin. Her shriek split the air, echoing in the small lab.

He lifted her above his head as she struggled to breathe. "How bout this time," he hissed, glaring violently, "You die for _real?_"

"Let –me –go," Kayla said, forcing the words out as she gripped his arm, trying to use her powers.

"You're little mind games don't work on me," he sneered.

"Victor!" Logan howled from the end of the lab.

Now that the real object of his rage had presented himself, Sabertooth threw Kayla down to engage his brother. He hated him desperately, but he didn't really know why.

* * *

The nuclear reactor towers in the distance poked up through the clouds like monstrous behemoths. The sight made my pump my wings harder, pushing me through the air to the Island. The wind currents made my eyes water, but I circled in close, dropping my altitude until I could see a familiar building.

I expected to feel fear when I spied the place I had been imprisoned in and tested on. But…that didn't really happen. It was just a building. Stryker was the one that had done those things, and I didn't even really fear him so much. I felt fear because of my unknown uncle who may be a better fighter than my father.  
I touched down behind the building and caught my breath, absorbing my wings back into my body as the aches and weakness from my wing muscles got transferred to my legs and arms. My legs shook as I tried to breath, but I started when a scream filled the air. My ears twitched, and then a roar answered, "Victor!" It was the voice of a male feral who was very, very angry with my father.

I started to run to the source.

My feet pounded along the pavement even though my legs threatened to collapse, and my lungs pulled oxygen in, propelling me forward through the darkness of the early morning. I rounded the corner as glass shattered and two figures fell through a window.

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	28. Blood is Thicker than Water

**28: Blood is thicker than water**

_But the Voice of truth tells me a different story_  
_ the Voice of truth says "do not be afraid!"_  
_'Voice of Truth' ~Casting Crowns_**  
**

The breath whooshed out of his lungs as they both hit a stack of crates. Victor took most of the impact because he was underneath his brother. He could feel his lungs filling with blood and claws pricking his neck. He laughed. "Feels good doesn't it?" he whispered, "All that rage…" That rage had gotten him through five wars and many other battles through the years…bit it had also affected his heart.

"Logan! You're _not_ an animal," Kayla called from the balcony. Jimmy's head snapped to her, and then back to his brother, indecision wavering in his eyes.

"Oh yes, you are," Victor whispered. "You're just like me." Logan _had_ to be like Victor, or else the animal who dreamed he was a man would be alone in his dreaming.

"DAD!" someone screamed agonizingly, a wail in the night. _Val._ She was going to be left alone if Logan killed him. Assuming he could be killed. But Victor didn't want to do that to her…

Jimmy's face twisted into an expression of anger, sadness, and pain. The claws on his right hand retracted and his fist slammed into Victor's temple, and then everything went black.

* * *

"No no no nononono…" I said frantically as I ran toward his prone form lying on the broken crates. I ignored Kayla and I ignored the man who must have been Logan; nothing mattered except that he couldn't be dead.

I climbed up beside him. Blood seeped from multiple cuts and gashes, and his eyes were closed. I was beginning to hate the smell of blood. "Daddy?" I asked in a small voice. "Dad?" I grabbed his hand, claws and all. "Please don't be dead, please, please…" I took a couple of shaky breaths as tears rolled down my face. "Don't leave me," I whispered. "Don't leave me. Please."

I kept whispering, pleading with him and God not to leave me alone. For how long, I had no real idea. It felt like years; it could only have been seconds. But all of a sudden, his breathing got a lot stronger, and he opened his eyes. "Dad?" I squeaked, my ears widening.

He blinked at me for a couple minutes. "Did you doubt your old man?"

I sniffed.

He sat up slowly and stretched.

I sat back on my heels and said, "You scared me. I thought you were dying. I thought –" My voice cracked, and I decided not to go on.

"I'm a lot harder to kill than_ that_," he said.

"Good," I said with finality, and gave him a bear hug.

Cats, sometimes solitary animals, do like to be petted on occasion. It felt like he was petting my hair as he hugged back. _He's not dead he's not dead he's not dead…_ my heart was singing. I snuggled against him, feeling safe and secure. For all of five seconds.

He stiffened, staring at something over my shoulder. "#*%&. They actually did it," he muttered.

I wriggled around to see what he was staring at. I saw a bald man without a shirt striding toward the end of the building, his steps purposeful, but almost mechanical. "Who is that?" I whispered, afraid to say anything louder.  
He gave me a strange look. "That's Wade." The man disappeared from sight.

I stared at where the man had gone, shocked. That man…that couldn't be Skippy! There was no trademark grin, or curly hair. And most of all, he wasn't talking. "What happened?"

"He had cancer, but he didn't let it show," he said, his face troubled. "Stryker talked him into volunteering for some experiments. Genetic bonding and splicing and *#& like that."

"So what does that mean?" I whispered, my ears laying back.

"It means he's a mutant killer," Victor growled. "And if I know Stryker, he's gonna take out Jimmy."

"He can't do that!" I exclaimed. "You have to stop him!" I was pulling on the lapels of his black overcoat, trying to convey the urgency I felt.

"And why would I want ta do that?" he growled.  
I stared at him. I didn't know why this feud was going on or why it had started, but I knew something –the power of family. "He's your brother," I said. "Aren't you going to help him?" My eyes were wide and confused. Family was supposed to be the strongest bond of all. Blood is thicker than water, and all that. And short of death, I had no concept of how those bonds could be severed.

He stared at me, processing my words. All at once, he got to his feet, pulling me up with him. "You looked just like your mother there," he told me, and a warm flush filled my body. "I hate Jimmy. And I don't know if I'll ever stop. But if Wade kills the runt, I'll never get the chance to." He stroked my hair once with a clawed hand, and I got a glimpse of deep affection hidden in his eyes before he told me, "Now, go somewhere safe, and if anyone comes, grow those wings of yours and fly back to the hotel." He gave me a look. "Didn't I tell you to stay there?"

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission," I said with a grin.

"Get going," he said, cuffing my ear and leaping off the stack of crates. I watched him go, praying he'd be all right.

* * *

Victor leapt into the open as the dawn sun just grazed the horizon. He sniffed the air currents, smelling for Logan and Wade, or what Wade had become. He caught the scent of Logan, and spotted him climbing up a nuclear reactive tower. He spotted Wade too. Victor ran on all fours toward the tower, and nearly reached it before Wade disappeared. _John's mutation,_ he thought, scanning the area._ My fault._

They were on top of the tower now. _Ah, #*&%._ He started climbing as fast as he could, digging his claws into the cement and hauling his body weight up that way. _At least cats land on their feet,_ he thought to himself. He was making good progress, and he could hear the sounds of the fight. He growled, climbing faster. Logan yelled in pain, and Victor knew it was now or never. He hauled himself over the side and pounced on Wade, who was about to behead his brother. The impact would have sent Logan toppling over the edge, too. But Victor grabbed onto his hand and wouldn't let go.  
Logan stared at him like he was crazy, even though he was hanging in midair. Victor smirked, showing his fangs, and said, "Nobody kills you but me." He hauled Jimmy back onto firm footing once again, and the two brothers stared at each other, considering this a temporary truce.

And suddenly Wade was between them, slashing swords and kicking with his feet. Both of them winced from the surprise attack. And then he disappeared again.

"Back to back!" Jimmy snapped, and Victor agreed with him. They slammed their backs against each other so that the enemy would not get between them and they'd be sure to be safe, concentrating on only their front. Even though he hated him, Victor knew Jimmy was the only guy he'd want to have at his back in a situation like this.

"I got him!" Logan shouted, seeing Wade come flipping towards him.

"Oh, no you don't," Victor growled, seeing Wade 'port onto his side as well.

And that's when the real fight of the night began.

* * *

I watched from the shadow of the building as my dad climbed _up the side_ of the tower. How on earth could he _do_ that? I wished I had super strength. The whir of an airplane broke my thoughts, and my ears twitched, pinpointing the sound. It wasn't jet-worthy, or anything large. This was a small two or four person airplane. And it was very close.

I set off at a jog for the sound.  
Rounding a few maintenance and outbuildings, I saw a small plane touch down and come to a stop. I shrank into a shadow provided by the sun and watched the door open and a man jump out. He started jogging toward the main part of the compound, and the sun hit his face, lighting it up.

I screamed, "REMY!" and ran toward him at a breakneck speed. He saw me coming and stopped just in time to catch me before I bowled him over. I gave him a huge hug, saying, "I'm so glad you're alright! I heard you got away, but I didn't know…"

"Hey, Val," he said in his Cajun accent. "What're yo' doin' heah? Did yo' escape?"

"Umm…" I said, pulling out of the embrace. "Well." My ears twitched. "Did I tell you that Victor is my dad?"

I didn't think so. "_Quoi_?" he exclaimed. "That *#*$ –sorry_, petite_."

"Yeah, it was a bit of a shocker to me, too," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets. "After you left, Stryker started doing experiments on me. But he –my dad –found out, and got me out."

"Prob'ly the only good t'ing he's done," Remy said angrily, his eyes fading from red to brown. "So what're yo' doin' heah now?"

"He's mad at his brother," I explained, "but now Wade is trying to kill him too so he's helping him." It was the cliff notes version, but it didn't feel like we had time for more.

"Logan?" Remy asked.

"Yeah," I said, rather surprised.

"Dat's who I came heah wit, cherie."

Oh. Well, that certainly explained why he was here.

* * *

Victor snarled in rage. Stryker had given Wade the one eyed kid's power. Jimmy was holding the bright crimson beam off by glancing it off his claws, but just barely. It wouldn't work forever. So Victor was running so fast around the rim he was almost flying, trying to get to Wade before he blew Jimmy off the rim. Or before Jimmy blew him off the rim.

Okay, he didn't really blow him _off_ the rim, just made him stop those beams and fall down. 'Course Jimmy fell off his side, too, but the Runt had never been good with things like physics. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction and all that jazz.

Victor was almost on top of the mutant hodgepodge of powers, but Wade sat up and blasted him back. #*&$ did those beams hurt like no other! He roared in pain and hit the cement. Wade reappeared in front of him and began to blast him down into the cement. His skin ripped apart only to heal and be ripped apart again by the searing heat. *$& did it hurt! He was being forced lower and lower into the cement, and his snarls couldn't be heard over the sound of concrete turning into gravel.

Suddenly, the searing, painful, hot beams stopped. Victor squinted his eyes, trying to clear his vision, and he saw Jimmy standing over what used to be Wade, who was holding his neck. A kick from the Runt, and what he had heard Stryker refer to earlier that night as 'Deadpool' went spiraling over the edge, loosing his head on the way. _Yeah, try to heal from that, *$#$._ A huge rumbling sound started, the cement under their feet rumbling dangerously.

Jimmy Runt held out his hand to Victor, and, staring dubiously, Victor took it. Once he was out of the hole, the two brothers stared at each other.

Logan finally said, "So. A kid?"

"Yeah," Victor said. "You remember that #*& base in Montana? Before we shipped out that time?"

Recognition crossed the younger feral's face, and he nodded. "Yeah. You and that blond…?"

Victor nodded. "She looks like her mother."

A small flash of regret crossed James Howlett's face, but then it hardened. "This doesn't change anything between us, Victor. We're done."

"We could never be_ done_, Jimmy," Victor said, half smiling in an animalistic, wild sort of way. "We're brothers, and brothers look out for each other."

He had looked out for Jimmy, and now he had to look out for his cub. Val. _Cats always land on their feet,_ he thought to himself as he jumped off the tower, which was breaking apart. _And even if I don't, I'll heal._

* * *

An ominous rumble filled the air, as well as a bright red flash. I recognized the flash from one of the stops we had made. One of the nuclear towers was falling apart!

Remy commanded, "_Petite,_ grow those wings o' yours and keep out o' range o' the debris!"

I concentrated on the tingling sensation in my back, but asked him, "What about you?"

"Ah'm goin' t' see if Logan needs help."

"What about the other kids?" I asked, my wings extending and giving a couple of flaps.

"Ah'll see 'bout dem, too. Now, go, _petite_!"

I heaved my wings up and down, lifting my body off the ground as the tower began to crumble, and Remy dashed away, picking up an iron pole on his way. Gaining some altitude, I tried to look around for my Dad –it was getting easier to think of him like that –but there were tons of dust and smoke in the way. It made me cough and hack, and I took to beating my wings in front of my face to keep the grit out of my eyes.

Finally, it settled, at least a little bit. I could make out figures in the dust. Where was he? I soared around to the east, checking all directions. _Please, God, please…_

There he was! I saw him, and he saw me. I started to bank down toward him, but he pointed away, in a southeast direction. Did he want me to go that way? Apparently so. I wiggled my wings to show I understood and soared off. I went past the island, nearing the mainland. A couple hundred feet later, I spotted his black car, and I drifted down, landing on the roof, absorbing my wings back into my body. It wouldn't do for anyone to see me with them, especially since there was a steady stream of police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances heading for the Island.

I slid off the roof and onto the ground, hugging myself and waiting and resting my aching muscles.

Ten minutes later, he walked up, dripping wet. I gave him a hug anyway. "What happened?" I asked, staring at his soaked clothes.

"Too inconvenient to go by the bridge with all the cops and such," he said. "I swam." He pulled off his overcoat and wrung it out. He tossed it in the back seat, and unlocked the car. "Let's go, Val."

I grinned and got in the car.

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	29. Remember Me

**29: Remember Me**

_Feels like I've been here forever, _  
_ Why can't you just intervene, _  
_ Do you see the tears are falling?_  
_ And I'm falling apart at the seams, _  
_ But you never said the road would be easy, _  
_ But you said that you would never leave._  
_ And you never promised that_  
_ this life wasn't hard, _  
_ But you promised you'd take care of me, _  
_ So I'll stop searching for the answers, _  
_ I'll stop praying for an escape, _  
_ I'll trust you God with where I am, _  
_ And believe you will have your way,_

_Just have your way_

/A few days later/

I walked into the cabin, about ready to sleep just about anywhere from exhaustion. I stumbled into the bathroom, used the bathroom, and then lurched into my room. Many days cramped in a car for long extended periods of time made me stiff and sore. I collapsed onto the comforter and stretched out, balling the pillow up under my head. I shifted my position so I didn't crimp my ear, and then I was out like a light.

* * *

Victor smirked a little as the cub walked into her room. She looked like she was sleepwalking; she was so out of it. Although, come to think of it, he could use a little shut-eye himself… he grabbed Val's bag that she had left in the middle of the floor and set it by her door, taking his own into his room. Tossing it in a corner, he sat on the edge of his bed to get his boots off. In the act of flinging his boots into the closet, his eyes caught sight of a manila envelope hiding in the pile of stuff on his dresser. It was the envelope with the information on Rue that Ray had sent. He had had to put it aside to do Stryker's dirty work. Well, he didn't have to now.

He grabbed it and dumped all the papers out onto his bed. He could wait a little longer for sleep.

He cursed under his breath, staring at all these documents that _must_ have been stolen, considering. The information was sketchy at best –a wild goose chase at worst. #&%^ sneaky agencies and their wariness about keeping records.

Victor growled. None of this was in any way certain about Rue. He leaned back and put his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He knew a number of things, one of which was that Rue Drake was not dead. Another was that someone had paid quite a lot of people off to make it seem like that. The question was, why? And where was she?

* * *

A single solitary drop of clear liquid dropped to the metal floor, making no sound in the deathly quiet cell. The dim lights cast deep shadows into the corners, especially the corner containing the curled up woman. That tear was the only sign of emotion she allowed herself to feel outwardly. Her arms were wrapped around her gray uniform, trying vainly to keep out the chill of the cool prison. The walls were marked with tally marks, covering every available surface. By her account, it had been almost two years since she had been brought here, but it seemed more like an eternity. And she hadn't aged a day.

Something in her soul kept a tight grip on hope even as everything around her tried to squelch her very soul. A shaky breath entered her chest and she mouthed, _"God, save me."_ Another tear ran down her cheek and dripped off her nose, since her head was tilted at an angle as it rested against the hard wall. And then another. And another. It turned into a full stream of inaudible sorrow.

Her shoulders wanted to slump in defeat, but she held on tight to the memories that presented themselves to her in the forms of hallucinations whenever her captors decided she could go without food for a few days. She saw Val most often. Valiant, her little girl. How she had loved that child. She had named her rightly. She could hardly believe she would never see her have another birthday. Sometimes she saw her long-dead parents, other times her only friend, Carrie. Sometimes they'd talk to her, but she'd never talk back. It was her one act of rebellion against the ones who kept her imprisoned. They seemed to understand that, and would sit with her in her corner or beside her as she lay on her bed, a thin mattress, offering the comfort of their presence. And she was grateful for them, even if they were only imaginary.

The cell door swung open and a guard stepped in, a hand on his club. She stood without protest. She knew the facility she was in was quite large, but she had no idea what it was for, except for the part she experienced. No one talked to her, except to order her around. And she never spoke.

She morphed into a mustang, supposed to be wild and free, but now beaten down, nearly defeated. Submitted her self to the painful testing by stern doctors muttering in their complex terms. Today was a spinal tap. Always they needed more data.

Changed into a beautiful eagle, sat upon a stand built for birds and let them clip her wings without resisting. After her sixth endeavor to escape, she had stopped trying. Let her wings beat the air powerfully from her perch, letting out all the pain, anger, and sorrow that she could not let herself scream out in rage.

Changed back into a woman with blond hair and sad blue eyes. Let the guard grip her arm painfully and tug her back to her cell. All because she was a mutant.

He shoved her back into the small shadowy room without a word, and she hit the opposite wall, wincing. The door slammed shut and the woman curled up on the thin mattress. _"I'm falling apart,"_ she mouthed, before closing her eyes to the reality and losing herself in dreams. They hurt less, until she woke up and remembered that that was all they were –dreams.

* * *

A couple hours later, Victor sat back, taking in all the information coming at him from these documents. Some of the information was conflicting, but the name on a lot of documents was Dr. Nathaniel Essex. And this really burned him up. He recognized that name. Stryker once did a business deal with him. Victor was nearly positive that he knew exactly where his base was, using memories of old conversations and information in the file –Wyoming. Not that far of a trip.

He really hoped Stryker wasn't dead. He wanted to kill him all over again for keeping this from him. No matter if the man never knew about Rue's relationship toward him until Val was brought into Three Mile Island –he should have turned that information over right then and there.

But maybe he should have seen Stryker for what he was, a slimy, sadistic, treacherous b—d, instead of ignoring the signs.

Victor growled and went to go find a good map.

However, he stopped stalk-still when he entered his living room to find Val walking slowly around the perimeter. He could smell the drowsiness on her –she wasn't awake. She was sleepwalking. Her cat's eyes didn't blink at all; she just vacantly stared into the middle distance as her hand thumped random articles of furniture in her way.

Creed grumbled under his breath; he had heard that you weren't supposed to wake sleepwalkers up, just guide them back to bed. As he grabbed a pillow from the couch and used it to gently prod the cub back to bed, he wondered, _when the *$&# did she start doing this?_

**Sorry it's been a while. I love y'all's reviews! :D  
**


	30. Another Journey

**30: Another Journey  
**_But I'm holding out  
for what you are about  
an inferno that burns to the bone  
some urge me to be temperate  
lukewarm will never do  
_

Brooke Fraser ~"Love, Where Is Your Fire"

I woke up in the morning, or maybe the afternoon, and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower. I seriously needed to be clean. As the hot water struck my body, I actually woke up somewhat, shaking my ears irritably. After thoroughly scrubbing myself clean and putting on some fresh clothes, I was able to walk without weaving into the kitchen and start looking for anything that looked edible.

"There's cereal in the bottom cupboard."

I jumped about three feet.

He chuckled. "You're losin' it, kid. You gotta be alert at all times, not just when you feel like it."

I turned around to see him scanning a bunch of road maps. He was right; I hadn't smelled him or heard him at all. I muttered nonsense under my breath and grabbed the cereal, a little nervous about the maps spread all over the table. We had just gotten back from the huge cross-country trip; I thought we would stay here for a while. Did he have to go again?

"Why the maps?" I finally asked, sitting down with my bowl of cereal at the table. Then I realized I needed milk and got up again.

He answered a question with a question. "Why do you sleepwalk?"

I froze with my head in the refrigerator, my hand on the milk. I swallowed hard and stood up, holding the jug. "Did I say anything?" I asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "No."

I let out a deep breath. I didn't want him to hear what I sometimes talked about. "I sleepwalk when I'm uncomfortable, stressed…" I shrugged. "When things aren't normal, I guess. Things haven't been normal for a while." I sat back down and poured the white liquid over my cereal and dug in. "So. Maps?" I asked again.

"No," he said, ignoring me.

I sighed and crunched. "Do I have to go?"

"No," he said. "It should only take a day or two. You can be left alone for that long, right?" he asked.

"Yes!" I said a bit hotly, laying my ears back.

He smirked. "Just checking, Val."

It soothed my ruffled feathers when he called me by name. "Why do you have to go?"

He glared at me, and I decided to drop it. It was too early for a knockdown drag-out, anyway. Plus I actually sorta wanted to start out on the right foot with my …Dad. Though I was really curious as to why he was leaving already, and a bit disappointed. I chomped my cereal in silence. He disappeared into the recesses of his room.

Finally, I finished and stuck the bowl in the sink, washing it out and placing it on the drying rack. I was about to go see if he had any other books I'd want to read, but he reappeared with a bag in his hand and headed toward the door.

"You're leaving now?" I asked, and promptly hated myself for the tone of my voice. I wasn't some weak frail. I would do fine by myself.

"Yep," he said, but he stopped and looked at me.

"Just come back," I muttered, but he reached out and messed up my hair with his huge hand. I glared and tried to fix it as he smirked.

"Course I will, Val," he purred, and then he was out the door.

* * *

Victor drove down the wooded drive, a destination etched in his mind. He'd find out about Rue once and for all. He hadn't wanted to tell the cub because he wasn't sure about anything. Didn't want to get her hopes up over maybe nothing.

He was doing that to himself anyway.

* * *

For the first day, I read. Finished off all my books (even reread a couple), went through a few classics on his bookshelf, and considered the dictionary. I wanted to explore, but there was only the kitchen, living room, bathroom and two bedrooms; and I guessed rightly that I wasn't allowed into his room.  
And he didn't have a TV set. Who doesn't have a TV set?

…Though the reception out here was probably awful, anyway.

He had a phone, though. And I still had Nate's phone number in a pocket somewhere. The question was, would he- my dad -let me run up his phone bill?  
'Better to ask forgiveness than permission' worked well once. No reason why it couldn't again. I hunted through a pile of dirty clothes to find the slip of paper, and made a mental note for myself to do some laundry. I would have to figure out how to work his washer, and find soap and laundry detergent… I shoved the thought away and took the number to the phone, twirling the number into the phone. He probably liked that kind because it would work with his claws. I twisted the cord around my finger as it began to ring.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. I hung onto the receiver, thinking maybe this wasn't a good idea… unease clenched in my stomach. Suppose he wasn't the one that answered. Suppose he wasn't in. I couldn't leave a message for him to call me because I didn't know the number for this phone. Suppose, suppose… I didn't get time enough to hang up before someone on the other end said, "hello?" It was a young male voice.

I coughed. "Um…is this Nate?" I asked. _Please be him, please be him…_

"Nope, sorry. He's out."

Rejection. I bared my teeth at the phone. _Grr…_ I inwardly thought. "Oh. Okay..."

"He should be back in a couple hours, if you'd like to try again. Or you could leave a message with me."

"Um, no. No message. I'll try again later. Thanks." I dropped the receiver back onto the base like it was a lit firecracker. "Well, that didn't work at all," I said to myself, back at square one. "What am I gonna do now?"

Well. There was always laundry… I gazed with antipathy at the ever-growing stack in my room. I didn't have that many clothes. How was the pile that big? Come to think of it, he probably had a stack or something in his room as well. I gave in to the pressure and the boredom and scooped up my large pile of dirty clothes, separating them into the whites and the colors. Once that was done, I gave his closed door a once-over. It was never implicitly stated, but I assumed that I wasn't allowed in his room.

Ha. Assumptions, smumptions. I cautiously opened the door, reminding myself he wasn't coming back for at least another day. Ears perked for any sound, I stepped into the dim room.

The first impression I got from the room was that it smelled strongly like him. The second was that it was brown. There was a brown cover on the bed (which was BIG) and the dressers and walls were paneled of some dark wood that looked manly. I half expected antlers in some corner. None appeared, however.

He worked by the same system I did. Everything has a pile. There were piles of paper, piles of clothes, and piles of… randomness. On top of one dresser, there was a rather large, dusty pile of stuff. I went over and got a closer look, not really touching, since he'd know I was in here if it suddenly became less dusty. It occurred to me he might know I was in here because my scent would be in here. That almost made me back out the door, but I told myself, _Val, you're already in. At least snoop a little. _I put my mind to examining the pile. Part of it looked like medals. I didn't know what they were for, except for one kind. Apparently, he had a lot of purple hearts. I giggled at that.

They must have been war medals. The other things looked like dog tags and chains. No weapons, though. Those were all carefully put up on the wall (I had missed them at first because they weren't directly in my line of sight when I opened the door). They weren't for use, I didn't think. Some looked old. That begged the question… exactly how old was my father?

What an odd question to think about. Finally I dragged myself away from the enigma of a room and gathered up his dirty clothes, separating them out. The clothes didn't tell me anything except that he preferred dark earthy colors, functional clothing, and boxers, not briefs. And that, I didn't really care about.

* * *

Victor impassively watched the guards change from his hidden vantage point above the compound. They weren't even trying to hide. That's what bugged him. At least have some class to disguise your illegal gene experimentation from the public. Overconfidence. He snorted. How stupid. Either they thought no one would oppose them, or they were sure that they could defend their selves. Their name was even emblazoned on the fence by the gate: Advanced Idea Mechanics.

A the base was in a valley surrounded by mountains on three sides, leaving only one way in and out of the bowl-shaped earthwork. Only one way by road, that is. Few could go over the mountains like he could. Actually, few people could do any of the things Victor could do, like slip in past the guards, break out a prisoner, survive being shot, and escape. That's what he was banking on.

As the sun slowly slipped over the rim of the valley, he silently made his way down from his vantage point. There was a hole in their security, right close to the trees on the east side –the security cameras and guards had a blind spot. If there were things like infrared and heat sensors, he'd sniff them out and deal with them. Victor would prefer to have a silent retrieval, but he knew that it probably wouldn't happen. And he didn't have the patience to plan for the quietest way. He would do whatever it took to get Rue out of there –tonight. Two years was long enough.

**AN: My apologies for letting this go so long! There shouldn't be more than a couple more chapters of this story, don't worry! I'm planning on writing the last bit over Christmas vacation! Y'all are great, thanks! Have a Merry Christmas, do well on finals, and please review! :D**


	31. To See You Again

**31: To see you again**

_I'm lost at sea without a friend_  
_ This journey, will it ever end? _  
_ Who will rescue me?_  
_ Rescue me_  
_~~from the movie 'The Rescuers'_

The tromp of guards' feet and the mutters from their mouths were all that she heard from within her cell. Rue stared at the ceiling, wondering when her heart had withered within her chest. Had it died? She hadn't spoken for two years. She hadn't felt a hug. She was slowly but surely dying inside because there was no love in his place. She was a thing. She was less than human to her captors. She would be tested and poked and prodded until there was no more use in her and then…

And then she would die.

Except she wasn't sure she _could._

And that was an even scarier thought than the fact that she was going to be tossed aside to die. That meant that she would spend forever like _this. _

She only got as far as _Dear God_ before her prayer was interrupted.

She sat up on her mattress and listened to a strange sound. It sounded like someone was gargling. _How odd,_ she thought to herself, before the lock turned in her door.

_What's going on? This is unscheduled. I don't –_

All thoughts died as a larger –than-life man stepped through her cell door.

She studied him, studied him hard. He looked just the same –dark, intense eyes, mutton chop sideburns, long claws for fingernails, and a cynical, humorous twist to his mouth. This was new. She had never hallucinated about him before. And her hallucinations had never come with sound, other than speaking. Maybe this was a sign that she was finally going around the bend.

"You look good, Rue," he said. So did he. Still the same age. Still handsome enough to make her heart flip. This was some hallucination.

He raised a brow. "You coming?"

Coming where? She was only imagining this; she couldn't walk through a door that was really shut. She blinked at him.

He shook his head. "I haven't got the time for this, Rue; you're coming." And then he reached down, _grabbed her arm, pulled her up, _and _tugged her out of her cell._ Her mouth fell open, staring at his hand on her arm, her open cell door, the dead guard at her feet, and gawked at him with a shocked expression on her face. "This is real?" she asked. Her voice cracked from disuse. She coughed to clear it. "This is real? This is happening?" Rue stared at the man she hadn't seen in 16 years. "You're here?"

"Yes, Flower."

Her harsh intake of break turned half way into a cry as the tiny flame of hope she had kept hidden away ignited in her heart

"We've got to get out," he said as a cry of warning sounded a ways off. "Can you run?"

"Yes," she said, seizing the firestorm of hope and holding on for all she was worth. He took her hand in his, and pulled her into a run.

* * *

Victor had to admit; he had a moment –just a moment –when he wondered if she was there. Her eyes were empty, and he wondered if what made her Rue had just simply gone away. He had seen it before –at the liberation of Dachau and other camps in Nazi Germany –some people were just dead inside. But then her eyes lit up with hope, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Now they were running –actually, Rue was running, and he was doing something that to him felt more like jogging. But he wasn't going to let her go.

"Where are we going?" she panted.

"Out," he said.

The rat-a-tat-tat of bullets started spraying behind them as she said, "That's specific."

It didn't register at first that she was being dryly sarcastic. He had forgotten that about her. Interesting. But they weren't moving fast enough to suit him now that there were bullets flying, so he effortlessly scooped her up into his arms and bolted at a higher speed, not bothered by the weight of her in his arms.

"Machine gun nest –next right," she told him.

"Good to know," he said, smelling the cold metal of the guns.  
"Have you got a plan?" Rue demanded. "How did you find me?"

"Can't we do this later?" he asked, slamming down the soldier in front of him.

"Soldier at two o'clock!" Rue yelled.

Victor growled and took the man down with his bone claws. He ignored her wince when the man screamed. He would use whatever methods he had to in order to get her out.

* * *

Rue wondered what this man was made of. She thought he had been shot twice, he was carrying her weight, and still he managed to take down everyone in his path and make good progress. The klaxon siren began to wail, alerting everyone in the facility that someone was on the loose.

"You're going to have more soldiers to deal with in a minute," Rue said, holding onto him for dear life.

"Oh, really?" he said sarcastically, dodging bullets and turning right down the corridor.

"This is the way to the gamma radiation room, not out!" Rue exclaimed.

"So we'll give 'em somethin' else to worry about instead of us," Victor said, smiling grimly.

Rue made a face. Gamma radiation was nasty stuff that was fickle at best and downright complicated. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Flood the base with it," Victor said.

"What?" Rue gasped. The gasp was part from shock and the fact that he had thrown them both down on the ground to avoid a round of bullets that came a little to close for comfort. She closed her eyes when Victor took him down. She wasn't a predator –only as a bird of prey did she hunt and kill, and honestly…she didn't like it much. It occurred to her that she barely knew this man.

_I still trust him,_ she pointed out to herself.

"Victor, gamma radiation –"

"Is poisonous, I know," Victor said. "But I can't die. And neither can you."

"What?" Rue said, shocked. How did he know that?

"You don't look as old as you should," He said, by way of explanation. "It's a tip-off."

* * *

Ah, found: one gamma radiation room. Victor broke the lock on the door and immediately began throwing the switches to take down the shielding and overload the radiation into the rest of the base.

"Do you really know what you're doing?" Rue asked, keeping a lookout for more soldiers without being asked. She was a good scout, Victor noted. Whatever-he-felt-for-Rue-Drake just rose another notch or two.

"I worked on a base whose cover was a nuclear reactor, read a couple texts on the subject, and oh –I lived through all the breakthroughs in radiation," Victor snapped, though not in an angry way. "Yes, I know what I'm doing."

"Lived through…" Rue said, staring at him in a wary sort of way.

"I'm older than I look," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

She turned her gaze back to the corridor, but the set of her shoulders told him she was unsettled. "You didn't tell me that before," she said pointedly.

"We weren't exactly sharing our life stories," he growled as the machines began to overload. "Here we go!" Ominous humming noise filled the room.

"Good, some soldiers are coming down the hallway," she said.

"Come on!" he commanded, pulling her away as the reactors reached critical. They ran as the world burst into flames and gamma rays.

* * *

Rue stared at the compound where she had been held for two years. It was now one giant pool of flames and radiation. A fitting end, she thought, as she felt the last of her skin knit together.

The colors were just gorgeous in the darkness. She wished she had a camera.

"C'mon, Flower," Victor said, turning away. She followed him into the night, still turning all of this over in her head.

"Where are we going?" she asked, figuring that was as good a place to start as any.

"To my car, and then home."

She was grateful to him, she really was, but it wasn't like he could dictate her life. "And what if I don't want to go, Victor?"

He glanced at her over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. How did he manage to make that look so attractive and dangerous all at the same time?

"A three-day relationship sixteen years ago isn't a lot to work with, Victor," Rue snapped.

"You had a kid, didn't you?" he asked. "That's something."

Rue swallowed hard and stared at the ground under her feet as she walked. "I…" she tried to say, but her voice cracked on her, and she couldn't begin. _Valiant…_ "You can…" she coughed, "You can drop me off somewhere, and I'll make my own way." _I can always go to Carrie's,_ she thought,_ if the shock of seeing me doesn't kill her. Come to think of it, where am I? I don't even know what state this is._

"You don't even want to see her?" Victor said.

"See who?" Rue asked reflexively.

"Val," Victor said, like it was obvious.

She felt like she had been punched good in the stomach. The odd noise she made caused Victor turn around and stare at her. "What are you talking about?" Rue whispered. "Val's _dead_."

He frowned down at her. "No, she's not," he said. "Who said she was?"

"They…they told me…" Rue felt like her grip on reality was loosening. "They told me she died. In the car crash. They told me… she died. I thought she was _dead!_ My baby girl…" she gasped.

Victor's strong hands gripped her shoulders tightly. "Listen, Flower," he said, staring into her eyes. "She's not dead. She's a *#&% fine cub. I found her, and she's fine. You should be proud."

"She's alive…" Rue whispered, right before she started crying.

Victor gathered her up into his arms and held her as she sobbed, from tears of relief and joy, but also from two years lost with her daughter. She wrapped her arms around him without thinking. He was just so solid a support…it was a natural thing to do. Rue buried her face in his overcoat and thought, _my baby is alive._

**AN: reviews get me off my butt and force me to write the end of this story, which is winding down. I need motivation! I need to finish! I need your help. So please oblige me. **


	32. What Love Really Means

**32: What Love Really Means**

_"I will love you for you,  
not for what you have done  
or what you have become  
I will love you for you  
I will give you the love,  
the love that you never_ knew"  
"What Love Really Means" ~~JJ Heller_  
_

I stared at the ceiling and debated with myself. To call or not to call, that is the question…

I really didn't want to get someone other than Nate again. Can you say AWKWARD? But seriously. It was day four of being by myself, and this alone stuff was just really getting uncool.

I grabbed the phone and dialed before I could talk myself out of it. Someone picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Um…I'm calling for Nate," I said, laying my ears back and crossing my fingers.

"I'll get him," the voice said. "NATE!"

I pulled the phone away from my ear and winced. There was some random scuffling and bumping before the phone changed hands and ended up with the right person.

"Hello?"

"Nate? Uh, this is Val…" I said.

"Val! Hey! How are you?" Nate exclaimed, sounding really excited to talk to me.

I wasn't expecting that level of excitement. "Oh…good. You?" It just occurred to me that we would actually have to find something to talk _about_. Oh, crud.

"I'm fine. Are you and your dad…okay?" he asked. "I mean, it's none of my business, but –"

"Yeah, no, it's fine," I said, rubbing my forehead, trying to figure out how to put this. "We're fine. It all worked out. He's traveling right now," I added.

"Oh," Nate said. "So…why did you call? Not that I mind, or anything."

"I was super bored," I replied. "I needed someone to talk to. Um… yeah. I called you earlier, but you were out," I said.

"Sorry. It was my cousin's birthday. Well, not really, but we were celebrating it because he was away when it happened."

"That's cool," I said, trying to find something to say. "Get him anything nice?"

"Yeah, new playing cards and a bo staff. Remy really liked it because he broke his other one in a fight."

"That's ni –_Remy_?" I said. "Um. What's his last name?"

"LeBeau. Why?" he sounded slightly weirded out.

"Oh. I… know him," I said. "That is _so _weird." _It's a small word after all, it's a small world after all, it's a small, small world…_

"How do you know him?" Nate asked, sounding really interested.

"Kind of a long story," I said, cringing at just how long. "Um. How 'bout you ask him, and then tell me what he said, and I'll correct you about the things he improved to make himself look good."

Nate laughed. "You do know him, then."

"Yep," I said. "He's cool, though. Good to have in a tight spot." I laughed. "But, I mean, so are you."

"That's me," Nate said agreeably.

"So… why don't you have the Cajun accent?"

"My mom married a Yankee," Nate said, laughing. "We lived in the north for a long time, then moved back down here. Not enough exposure to develop it." Only a slight southern accent pervaded his voice.

"Makes sense," I said. My ears twitched, picking up the far-off growl of a motor. "Hey, um, listen. My dad's coming back, so I'm gonna call you back, okay?"  
"Sure," Nate said, sounding a bit disappointed.

"But –talk to Remy, okay? Just don't believe any embarrassing stories he tries to tell you about me," I said.

Nate laughed, and his laugh made me smile. "I'll definitely take any and all embarrassing stories with a grain of salt."

"Okay," I said, relieved. "Bye…"

"Bye."

I put the phone back into the cradle and let out a deep breath. The butterflies in my stomach seemed to finally take a break. "Well, that went well, I guess," I muttered to myself. Then I sat up and looked around the room, trying to figure out if I needed to clean up anything before he came back. I put my stack of books back into the bookshelf and double-checked that there were no dishes in the sink.

_It looks pretty okay,_ I decided, and settled back down on the couch. By now his motor's noise was quite close. I wondered what he'd be like when he came back. What had he gone away for, anyway? I still wondered, and I hadn't found any clues around the house.

I was, however, glad he was back.

The engine cut and died, but there were no heavy steps on the porch to signal his arrival. _What if it's not him? _ I suddenly thought, and the butterflies returned with a vengeance. _What if it's somebody else?_ I quickly jumped off the couch to peer carefully through a window. I let out a sigh when I saw that yes, it was indeed his car. He was helping someone out of the passenger side –

…

Blond hair, pale skin. I couldn't see anymore, he was blocking my view.

…

_What?_ Who –

He moved out of the way, and I saw her face.

_But she's dead! She's –_

She was here.

Then I was running, shoving the door out of my way, jumping down all the steps of the porch, regaining by balance and kicking up gravel as I ran to her and almost pushed her over as I threw my arms around her, gasping from shock as my eyes burned from tears. Some distant part of me noted I was an inch taller than her now. Two years changes a lot.

Her arms wrapped around me as if they would never let me go. My own were like a vice around her; if I let go, she might disappear.

"Valiant," she whispered, "Baby. Oh, I missed you so much!" She sounded like she was trying to laugh and cry at the same time.

I whispered into her shoulder, "_Mommy."_

She was here.

* * *

It felt like a year that I stood there, holding her. My mother was back from the dead. She was here. This was real. She was alive.

He had brought her back to me.

I pulled away to look at her –so thin –and to look at him, who seemed to be hiding some emotion behind his eyes that he wouldn't let me see.

"Valiant," my mother said again, stroking my hair and my ears.

"How are you here?" I asked, my voice sounding hoarse and scratchy. "You _died._"

"I thought _you_ had died," she told me. She couldn't seem to stop smiling. "The car crash was a set-up, apparently."

"Where _were_ you?" I demanded.

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. I could see the ill-fitting clothes hanging off her frame. "In a cage, somewhere awful."

I knew all about cages.

"Wyoming," he put in quietly. "A branch of a corporation that thought mutant experimentation was a good idea, but couldn't cover their tracks well enough."

It really hit me then; he had found her. He had found her and rescued her and brought her back to me. And I didn't know how to thank him.

I settled for a bear hug. "Thank you," I whispered into his chest. I felt his large clawed hand stroke my hair and ears gently.

"Don't mention it, Val," he said gruffly. "Now go help your mother inside."

My _mother._

I smiled.


	33. Safe

**33: Safe**

_So I'm dropping my guard  
__here's your chance at my heart and  
oh no, my walls are gonna break_  
_so close, it's more than I can take_  
_I'm so tired of turning and running away_  
_when love just isn't _  
_everything you want, but it's everything you need_  
_It's not always happy endings but it's all the in-betweens_  
_it's taken so long, so long to finally see_  
_that your love is worth the risk  
Britt Nicole ~~ "Safe" _

The fire crackled on the hearth, the only light source in the room. Victor watched Rue as she lazily stroked Val's hair as she slept, her head on her mother's shoulder and the rest of her awkwardly sprawled over the couch. It was late.

He had watched her all through their stories' unfolding, through dinner, through the questions Val asked and the ones she didn't. She had seen him watching, and she probably didn't know what to make of the fact that the two people that had a hand in ensuring that she'd come into the world were in the same room together. But now she was asleep, sleeping soundly –and so far, she hadn't made any move to try to get up and walk around in her sleep.

He'd chalk that up as one of the reasons that Rue should stay.

He wanted her to stay. What was he talking about, she was _going_ to stay; Val was_ his_ cub and needed proper training and raising as a feral, even though Rue had done a fine job so far. Rue was her mother and the only woman he'd ever given a second thought to. They were his pack, and he wasn't letting them outta his sight.

She could feel his gaze on her, he knew. Other animals could feel when a predator was in range. Although she was a predator in her own right as a bird of prey, Victor wasn't filling the predator role predominantly at the moment. He was the protector, and he couldn't protect his pack if they were outta his reach.

"This is really… surreal," Rue whispered over the snap of the fire as it licked along a log. "I'm reunited with the daughter I haven't seen in two years by the man I haven't seen in sixteen."

"Guess you're gonna have to come to terms with that," Victor murmured quietly, just loud enough that Val wouldn't wake.

"Oh, I have… it's just strange," Rue said. "Victor…"

His name on her tongue still caused him to hum quietly to himself, an unheard purr. "Flower?" he replied, using the nickname he had come up with for her such a long time ago.

Her gaze snapped from the fire to his eyes, and the tumult of emotion behind her eyes was visible. She didn't seem to know what to say next. "Victor, what we had… it was three days time, sixteen years ago. That's not much."

"We also have a kid, or are you forgetting that?" he asked quietly, a hint of danger coating his tone.

"Of course not," she said tartly. "But…you can't build off that."

"Why not?" Victor asked. Rue's eyes caught the light of the fire, and they glowed. It didn't hit him like a freight train, but the thought simply rose to the surface in his mind –Rue Drake was the most beautiful woman he had ever known. "And didn't we already have this conversation?"

"Not all the way through; stop dodging the question," Rue said.

Victor grinned, showing his canines; this was one of the reasons he liked Rue. "You didn't ask a question, Rue. I did. I asked, why the h$*& can't we start over?"

Her gaze wandered over the cabin, landing on anything and everything in an effort to not meet his eyes. He suspected –no, he _knew _–the reason why, but he wanted to hear it from her. "Flower," he murmured, getting up from his big easy chair and standing over her, "why not?"

A muscle in her jaw spasmed as she pursed her lips together, vainly trying to keep the words from spilling forth. "Be_cause_ I'm afraid," she admitted. "I'm afraid of crying my eyes out for a week again like I did after you left. I'm afraid of feeling because I don't want to risk it being taken from me again."

"There's one problem with that," Victor said, taking her hands in his large ones. "I'm not leavin' again. An' no one's gonna $*& with my pack anymore."

A tired smile slowly spread across her face. "How do you do that?" she whispered. "Make me want to drop my defenses with just a word."

"No idea," Victor said.

Rue looked down at their sleeping daughter and mumbled, "She's not restless when she sleeps anymore."

"She told me she sleepwalks when thing's ain't normal."

Rue nodded at the truth in his words.

"Maybe things're just beginnin' t' be normal for the first time in a long time," he said.

Her eyes resumed their wander of the room, and spotted the boxes he hadn't moved since he had brought them to his cabin, but he suspected she had noticed them before. Rue slowly eased Val off of her shoulder and into a comfortable position on the couch, pulling a blanket over her, then slowly moved to the boxes, sifting through them with a practiced hand. Victor followed, watching what she smiled over.

"Honestly?" Rue whispered. "You were always there… in the back of my mind, every time I looked at her. She's so much like you."

"And you," he said.

"Not _that_ much," she said, flipping through a photo album. "But you were always there," she said. Her fingers pulled out an old photo from years past –himself, staring at the camera doubtfully. "In some way or another."

He remembered the day she took that. He was shipping out, and she snapped a picture of him before he could say no. He had chalked it up to female sentimentality. Now he was glad that she had taken it.

"Can't we make this work?" he said in a low voice.

Her shoulders hunched, and she swallowed. "I don't know if I can –if I can just let go of this fear. If I can open up like that."

He took her hand. He knew that she could. She was his Flower –she could bloom again. "Try," he said.

**Only one more chapter! Please review!**


	34. A Hundred More Years

**AN: This is IT! Love you guys!  
**

**34: A Hundred More Years**

_"And she wants to stay right here_  
_Make it last_  
_For a hundred more years"_

_Francesca Battistelli ~~ "A Hundred More Years"  
_

I woke up feeling strange, and I couldn't figure out why, but I soon discovered the reason when I tried to roll over and fell off of the couch. I'm afraid I yowled rather loudly in cat because I was tangled up in my blankets.

Amused laughter rang out as I fought my way out of the blankets. "You still ain't aware of your surroundings, kid."

My reply came out as a "mmmblsdighghdsff" since I was still cocooned in the blankets.

"I think we can be a little lenient today," my mother's voice said, as her hands helped mine unwind the blankets.

She smiled at me once I could see. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"Hi mom," I said. I want all mornings to be like this. Just like she never left. Like she's never gonna leave again.

"How do you feel about breakfast?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side.

I thought about this. "Good?" I finally replied.

"I'll take that," she said, laughing. "Victor's making it."

That made me wake up and sniff. "It smells like pancakes."

"That's what I said. He says it's not."

I shed the last of the blankets and shook my hair out of my eyes, venturing into the kitchen to see what he was cooking.

Well. It was on a griddle. And it was the right shape. "So if it's not pancakes," I said, "what is it?"

"Johnnycakes," he said, glancing over at me.

"Aha," I said, in a tone that meant 'what are you even talking about.'

"Didn't you teach this kid history, Rue?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, "but there's just something about the ears that make whatever I say go in one and out the other." She tweaked one of my furry ears.

"_Mo-om,_" I said, embarrassed as he laughed.

"Johnnycakes're made with cornmeal and milk and whatever else you feel like tossin' in," he told me. "They were a staple for the Confederates during the Civil War. I learned how to make 'em from a prisoner we took –we had gotten sick of eating hardtack."

I processed this. If he was _in the Civil War,_ that would make him –oh, nope, not doing that math. No way no how.

"You need to know your history, kid," he said.

"I thought you said I only needed to know feral stuff now," I said.

He gave me a look and I decided to shut up as Mom giggled in the background.

"Well, you can teach the history and whatever else you feel is necessary, and I can do the more mundane, human subjects," she suggested.

Can I take a moment to say something?

This is when it hit me. My family (which is now made up of my mother AND father AND me) was together for maybe the first time in my life. Actually, yes, for the first time in my life. And while it was still a bit weird, seeing my mom and my dad in the same room together, and a little awkward at times as breakfast went on and the conversation topics roamed… I realized… that _this could work_.

I could have two parents. My parents could…_love_ each other. Because he calls her Flower and she likes his cooking. Because he saved her, and a long time ago, she started to change his heart. And then they had me. And they love me.

"I like this," I said abruptly, when there was a lull in the conversation.

"Like what, Val?" my mother asked.

"This," I said. "Being a family –a complete family. It feels like being whole for the first time."

She smiled and squeezed my hand under the table. He didn't smile, but that wasn't really his way –I could see the affection in his eyes.

Ferals have long lifespans; I've seen that in my father. My mother hasn't changed much at all since I've last seen her, age wise. I'll probably reach a point where I'll stop aging too.

As I ate the johnnycakes, I asked God to make this last for at least a hundred more years.

* * *

**Epilogue**

_7 months later_

"Come on!" I yelled. "Cross-country road trips don't start themselves!" I threw my suitcase into the trunk of the car and hopped impatiently up and down.

"Remind me why I agreed to this," Victor growled to Rue.

"You got tired of her running up the phone bill," Mom said, amused. She let him take the bag in her hand without protest. He had gotten protective –scratch that, _more_ protective –ever since we found out she was going to have another baby. Three months along and she wasn't showing yet, but she said to give it time. I hadn't become a bump until month four, she said.

"That doesn't seem like a very convincing reason," he grumbled.

"Yeah, but I want to meet this mysterious friend from New Orleans," she said. "Check him out, see what sort of boy he is. Val, are we going to like this boy –what's his name again?"

"Nate," I said. "Yeah. I think so. He's nice."

"Not good enough, that's what kind of boy he is."

"Really, Victor. Five minutes of contact with the kid that happened seven months ago and you can tell he's not good enough," Rue said skeptically.

"He's Cajun, ain't he?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or moan. "_Da-aad…"_

He opened the car door for my mother and said, "Well, get in the car, kid, and we'll get started!"

I hopped in with a hidden smile.

**The End.**

* * *

**If you're sad that the journey has ended, please go check out 'Three Days Time,' Victor and Rue's one shot prequel. **

**You all are so amazing, and I'm so thankful for the encouragement and interest. The next thing I'm working on is Doctor Who, so if you like that, please keep your eyes peeled! :D**

**Blessings,**

**MBE**


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